The Divine Conspiracy
by noobie53
Summary: She wondered what would have happened, had she simply walked away all those years ago. Would she have been able to live with herself? Never looking back, forsaking her powers and letting it all die? "You didn't save the world, Dragonborn..." He stood over her, pointing his ghostly sword at her throat, "...you only delayed the inevitable." (Cover art by deviantart AlanMac95)
1. Prologue

_"Everyone, deep in their hearts, is waiting for the end of the world to come." - Haruki Murakami_

* * *

**Sundas, 31st of Evening Star, 5E 155/305 AC**

She opened her eyes to the sounds of dragons and gryphons soaring above. Though her vision was blurred, she could still make out the streams of ice, fire, and lightning that lanced across the sky as the winged beasts clashed with their demonic counterparts; empowered, ice-like variants of the Daedric Titans. 

Sharp pains throttled every nerve in her body, a particularly strong one in her abdomen. She clasped it with her right hand and felt the warm, stickiness of her blood seeping out of her dragonscale leather armor, right where he slashed her and threw her from the clouds, crashing into various dragons and gryphons like a small stone skipping across a pond before cratering into the ancient castle below. 

How far did she fall? She wondered, finally feeling the cold, hard stone beneath her aching body, even if it was a bit softer from the depression she made in the landing. She was surprised that she didn't simply go right through the roof and cause the whole keep to collapse when she took the bastard's strength into account. _Hmm… small favors._ Golden ribbons of light began to surround her as she produced a minor healing spell with her left hand, healing the worst of her wounds, not that it mattered, it still hurt; like a dragon had smacked her around a few times with its tail, something she was not entirely unfamiliar with. Shaking her head, she looked to her left, finding her silver, blue glowing greatsword rooted into the stone floor, its teal glow and white lilac runes penetrating the flames licking at it inside the wreckage of a trebuchet. 

That blade was never too far away. 

With a groan, she propped herself to her feet and moved to retrieve it, waving a hand over the flames to sweep them aside. Pulling it from the stone, she bore witness to the scene before her. War cries and shrieks of death could be heard, followed by the clashing of steel and explosions of magic and artillery. At one hundred and sixty-four years-old, she had seen more war and death than all the men and women fighting below. 

**_"Laas… Yah Nir."_** She said, her Voice a ghostly whisper. 

Her blood-red eyes gazed upon the hell storm below with her dragon enhanced vision, the battlefield illuminating with the lifeforces of those below, as if a million fires lit at once; a testament to those with the will to survive. Men, Mer, and Beast-folk, commoners and knights, lords and ladies, kings and queens, gods and demons. Fighting side by side, it was an unthinkable sight. 

"Tch." She scoffed. It was ironic, amusing even. 

It was little more than a year ago that half of these people were more than content with killing each other for their own gains. Betrayals for a sack of gold, a title, a castle, a throne, a nation; frivolous things that she could have easily taken for herself if she had wanted. She certainly had the power and will to dominate others, just like all those blessed with the blood and soul, practically destined to rule a kingdom by divine mandate. And yet, out all those that came before, she was the only one to turn away from that instinct, choosing to be a vigilant wanderer instead. The gods and demons among them were no different. For thousands of years, they have always seen elves and mortals as little more than pieces on a board, but when their own existence was threatened by an entity more terrifying than they could possibly imagine, they joined the battle, those that remained at this point, anyway. 

The cold winds surged through her fiery red hair, her pale skin shimmering in the moonlight as she stood on top of the battered keep of ancient Winterfell. She had to give the wolves credit; they knew how to maintain a castle, and defend it, no matter the odds. When she first befriended the direwolves, who built this place and held it for thousands of years, it was when the Seven Kingdoms was on the brink of open rebellion and she was a foreign dragon passing through the domain of another. Or crashing into it, give or take. 

They were a humble bunch: honorable, strong, and very direct; a close-knit family. 

But their codes of honor, while well intentioned, became their downfall. Betrayed by those they once called allies, House Stark was scattered and nearly destroyed. And now the Seven Kingdoms are being led by the remaining members into battle against an ancient enemy. 

She watched Jon Snow impale a White Walker with his sword, shattering it into tiny tiny icicles that melted as they fell to the ground. The boy then braced himself as another charged at him, only for it to run into a broad swing of the old Dunmer's Trueflame Aetherium sword. It too, shattered on impact. The two warriors—both returned from death in some way—briefly shared a nod before moving on to other opponents. 

Across from them, high up on the battlements, she could see Lyanna Stark weave through wight after wight as she made a beeline for the advancing, blue-eyed Valkynaz behind them. With a proud smile, she watched one of her greatest students easily block and parry every swing the Daedra threw at her with her legendary swords before she took the bastard's head clean off his shoulders. _You've come a long way._ Said wolf than leaped from the battlements just past the east gate, landing on the back of a Greater Titan that a group of soldiers were struggling against, plunging her blades into the nape of the beast's neck, forcing it into the ground as she shoved deeper and more than likely cut the spine. 

With a nod, she turned to head into the keep and rejoin the battle, but it found her as a group of wights swarmed out of the doors, flailing and screaming at her. 

_**"FUS... RO DAH!"**_

The blue sphere of pure magicka blasted out of her lips, clapping the air and slammed into the undead with the speed of a thunderbolt and the force of an avalanche, disintegrating them into plumes of dust. Rushing through the cloud, she entered the building, finding its interior to be surprisingly empty. 

Once inside, the sounds of the battle outside were drowned out by the stone walls, but she could still hear the snarls and cracking limbs of the dead now stalking the halls, looking for prey to rip and tear. But she has always been accustomed to the walking dead. 

Silently rounding a corner, she raised her left hand and flames condensed into her palm and fingers before she closed it briefly, counting. _One. Two. Three!_ Flexing outwards, a bright yellowish-orange fireball soared from her hand, making a loud sound before exploding into another group of wights and a black robed Cultist. The dead disintergrated instantly while the Cultist howled in anguish, rolling into the floorboards before she plunged her sword into his neck, silencing him. 

"Damn you, Dragonbitch!" 

She spun around and almost lazily parried another cultist's sword, taking off his head and sidestepped a third, wrapping her arm around her head and pulled. 

_Crack!_

The woman slumped forward and fell to the wooden floor. 

Moving on, she came across a few bodies strewn along the halls; likely mauled by wights or cut down by the cultists from earlier. Descending a flight of stairs, she heard the fighting outside echo further down the corridor on her right. Picking up the pace, she headed towards the bridge connecting the keep to the armory, running across as the east gate burst open, two wight giants and a teal armored, ghostly Summoner charging through. 

Three living giants and the group Lyanna had helped, engaged immediately, several of the soldiers using the fallen Titan for cover, loosing arrows as the giants fought their enslaved brethren, Lyanna casting firebolts at the Summoner. 

Another quake caught her attention and she looked to the massive rock directly above. 

Masser was drawing ever closer, yet the Northern Lights were blazing in an all manner of colors with the stars virtually bleeding as dozens of meteorites rained upon the world, the remnants of a cosmic catastrophe that occurred only weeks before this moment. With the smoke rising and all the light from the fires below and beyond, the clouds glowed a blood-red. It was a sight to behold, even if it was marred by all the senseless death and destruction surrounding her. 

Looking back at the three monsters at the gate, she Shouted, _**"YOL... TOOR!"**_

Fire surged forward and engulfed the two wight giants, killing them instantly while the Summoner brought its giant sword to use as a shield, only to roar in pain as Lyanna circled and plunged her longsword into its side, causing it to crumble and fall into the dirt as the fiery plume flew overhead, straight through the gate and incinerated more wights that were sprinting in before dissipating. Lyanna Stark followed the direction of the flames and locked eyes with her with those pale grey eyes, her briefly sagging shoulders showing the relief she felt, nodding wordless thanks before ordering the soldiers and giants to hold the gate as she made a beeline for the Godswood. 

The earth shook again, more violently this time, but she maintained her footing, looking up once more as a thin, orange aura began to form around Masser. How much longer before the last remnant of Lorkhan becomes a flaming heap of molten stone and smashes into Nirn? 

_Never. I'm still here._ She ran into the armory, hearing more screams and clashing weapons. Bursting through the door, she plunged her sword up to the crossguard into a Valkynaz's side, right below the rib cage and resting against the spine, before dragging it sideways with so much strength it bisected the Dremora, coming out of the upper back and cleaving through a White Walker, shattering it, the soldier he was fighting briefly staring at her in shock before rejoining the fight. 

She proceeded to cut through like a hot knife through butter, parrying and slicing and slashing; the wights, cultists, White Walkers, and Dremora quickly becoming a blur. Three tried to take her at once and with a whistle of her sword cutting the air, they were on the ground. Another cultist from behind and she spun down to her knees, narrowly avoiding his sword and struck him with a lightning bolt from her left hand, sending him flying into the hearth, the unfinished steel and ebony weapons clattering to the ground. 

As she fought, her mind recalled what the old Dunmer said to her before she took off for Skuldafn all those years ago. _'You know what you are, crossbreed. What every one of your predecessors were since the days of the Elhnofey.'_ Three on the left, two on the right. She slid on her armored knees to meet them, bringing her sword and cut through the two on the right before leaping up and parrying one strike, twisting her body to dodge the second, and kicked the third so hard his neck broke. _'None could ever forsake that unstoppable iron will.'_ Five more on the right; she clenched her hands around the swords grip and raised over her head, feeling the magicka in her veins transform into lightning and surged them into the blade before she slammed it onto the ground, sending a steady stream careening forth, vaporizing all of them before they could even scream. _'It's in your blood, your very soul.'_ A loud crash came from behind, she turned and sneered at another wight giant looking down at her through the crumbled wall, reaching in with a bony hand. _'You. Are. Doom-Driven. The gods are never going to make that go away.'_

And the world hasn't ended, yet, _**"YOL!"**_

The small ball of dragonflame soon engulfed the undead creature's arm before quickly spreading along the rest of its body, the giant screaming and staggering back before crumbling to the ground. 

Not even sparing a second glance at the men and women she had helped, she ran through opening through in wall and into the battle outside, continuing the same dance. Cut, slash, dodge, tear, rip, roll, cast, parry, block, Shout. Repeat. It wasn't long before she came out of her warrior's trance and found herself standing in the middle of the castle courtyard, facing the southern gate, surrounded by men and women, corpses and monsters, flames and debris. 

A loud crash then thundered behind her, thrashing the earth. She didn't bother sparing a glance over her shoulder, only spinning her sword. She knew who landed there, even if he was barely recognizable from his original form. The ground quaked with each step he took, slowly approaching, holding out his black great mace and ghostly-grey greatsword, hissing her name. 

**"Alycia…"**

His voice was like the cracking of ice upon a winter lake, the kind of sound that sends a dark chill down your spine. The moment when you realize what it truly means to be afraid. 

But not her. Not anymore, she knew well enough to never be frightened of him again. 

_**"MUL... QAH DIIV!"**_

She turned to face him as ribbons of dark red and violet light encapsulated her and formed into a set of ethereal armor and wings, her blood-red eyes shifting to an icy blue, her hair a divine white, red markings forming along her cheekbones, glowing with absolute fury. The Last Dragonborn smirked and assumed a two-handed stance with her sword. 

"Back for more?" 


	2. Chapter 1: Valyria

_"I have lived long enough both in years and accomplishments." – Julius Caesar_

* * *

**Tirdas, 24th of Sun's Height, 5E 129/279 AC**

_This is true freedom._

She held on to the ebony made handles on the saddle of her mount as they dove into the large clouds the way a child leaps into a pile of fine cotton, the sun a golden eye high up in the endless sea above as the massive snow-white dragon roared all the way through, announcing their presence to the quaint and ignorant world below. 

_GRUOOOOOOAAAAAAAAARRRRHHHHHK!_

Few people truly get to experience the freedom one feels when soaring above mountains, to see the world as the dragons do. For Alycia Starlight of the Royal House Aldmeri, a Crossbreed Princess of the Aldmeri Dominion, the Last Dragonborn, and a smattering of other titles she does not bother reciting or even remembering, or simply Aly to those closest to her, it has become as ordinary as her own heartbeat. She has always felt more alive when taking to the skies, the perfect place for her to clear her mind; a refuge from the problems of the surface. No demands, no pleas, no questions. Just her with the clouds and the blue sky and the sun and stars and the moons above her. 

The Dragonborn smiled and lifted her head, letting the moisture in the clouds caress her face, the form-fitting leather armor and light cloths she wore underneath, and her dark red, near waist-length hair, causing it to mat on her head and face the way it does when beneath a waterfall or lake. For some, this would be a cause for discomfort once out, but she knew better as the winds and sun would dry them in short order. 

On the ground below, she always felt less, shackled down because of the way the abilities she was blessed with interacted with the world she knew. Priests and Highborn, smallfolk and even stuck up warriors, would try to tell her what to do (because they were suddenly experts on her gifts or she was in 'their' lands); beg for her help (which she usually gave); ask her ridiculous questions about her past achievements and the stories they conjured up (word travels fast and often gets muddled up); beg to learn from her (most don't have the patience for the Thu'um); or even propose a marriage (even though she was now old enough to be their twice-removed grandmother). It could be quite infuriating and humbling at times. It would often leave her wondering how she went from a being a pampered little bastard-born cross-breed Altmer/Breton princess from the ancient city of Alinor, to a living legend heard round the world. 

_Crossbreed and a bastard…_ She pursed her lips. Oh, how her royal father of all people was able to get away with _that_. Not that it mattered in the end. Her small world for all intents and purposes went mad when she turned fourteen in 4E 200. Thalmor agents stalking her in Alinor; running away from home; the biting winds of Skyrim; dragons returning from the dead; thieves with bad luck; bards who wouldn't shut up; a sarcastic ancient vampire; assassins with no direction; a civil war; then Solitude; her older sister rising in rebellion; a dance in the clouds; Tamriel completely devasted; and eventually back home in the Ivory Palace of Alinor, 4E 206. A full circle of deceit, murder, collapsing empires, war, patricide and regicide, and the black banner of the golden gryphon flying high over the White-Gold Tower, permanently. The irony was not lost on her. 

The Dragonborn gazed up at the sky as her dragon broke through the clouds and let her hair catch the wind, letting out a small sigh, shelving the sudden thoughts on her eventful (and disastrous) early life and looked towards the approaching shoreline, the sands coming into view as the smoke steamed from those broken peaks towering over them. 

_Valyria… We're finally here._

Spending most of her early life in Tamriel and then traveling to Akavir in the first years of the Fifth Era, the Dragonborn had only heard tales of the lands in west, past the Yokuda Islands, beyond the Eltheric Ocean, or in the East past Akavir, on the other side of the Sunrise Ocean. Or was it the Sunset Sea? It probably depended on where you were living, but these lands were home to vast empires that have been said to rival Tamriel and Akavir in size and power but fell short when it came to magic. 

According to the accounts of those who had ventured to those places, and there were not very many, they once had as much magic as Tamriel and Akavir, but then slowly but surely, it receded from that part of the world and the peoples who live there now regard it as a lost art. Or even a myth to some of the common folk. That in itself was strange, as magic, or magicka, as far as the mages and historians claimed, is said to come from Aetherius, the immortal plane, leaking through holes seen only in the night sky, the stars. The sun is the largest and brightest of these resulting in the light of day. It is believed to have been formed by the God Magnus when he fled back into Aetherius during the Dawn Age, before time was linear, tearing a hole through Oblivion in the process. The rest of the stars were formed by the Magna Ge, the other Old Spirits who followed the Architect through their own portals. Magic is the lasting mark that Magnus left on the world, it's why this power is named after him. 

Of course, this is all conjecture made by singers, priests, and scholars throughout Tamriel's history, some of which contradicted each other, like the book on Sithis that she once read over a century ago. So, in truth, who the hell knows? Alycia remembered how her two friends, twins Jason and Daena often told her numerous stories of Westeros, the farthest continent from Tamriel, from both the east and west; it was their homeland, and even everything _they_ knew of it came from their mother, Nettles, the dragonrider. They were only children no older than two or three when they arrived in Hammerfell, 4E 179. As they grew older, they learned and were able to use magic just like everyone else in Tamriel. Back home and in Akavir, further east, it was as common as the air they breathed, and even their mother was able wield it after she read an Apprentice-level spell tome out of curiosity, causing her to pass out and then capable of casting firebolts when she came to. She ended up rivaling a battle mage from the Dominion armies in a matter of months. So, what was the cause of this phenomenon? Gods only knew. The most accepted theory is that it was always there, in their blood, but the knowledge, even the instinct to wield it, was lost to time. Evidence that supported this did not fall to Jason, Daena and their mother either, because others, such as the Westerosi sailor Alys Westhill, made the journey long before they did, and that was from the east. 

In the end, the only real conclusion the various historians and mages could come up with was that the magical arts were still very much alive in one half of the world, while a faded ember in the other, with only a few rare cases in remote areas such as the cities of Qarth and Asshai and the odd hermit or two according to word of mouth. And even they didn't have much to show, other than complex blood magic and shadowbinding; two more obscure branches of the Conjuration and Illusion Schools. 

Whatever the case, Alycia was more than content with leaving these lands be, regardless of what stories were told of her and what they call the East Beyond Essos from merchants and travelers, and they only ever went as far as Qarth. She felt that she had seen and done enough in the world as it was. 

But then she started having those dreams again. Dreams she has not had since the end of the Fourth Era: 

_She was standing on top of a massive spire, black and blue clouds swirling around it while lightning streaked and struck. Below, she could hear the, terrified, painful cries of a million souls, begging for mercy; dragons were among them, falling from the skies like flies, their wings tattered and torn. The massive city was asunder; fire, ash, and death rained upon them all. A pale blue light then emanated behind her, and as she faced it, it burst forward with incredible force... and the world shattered; a billowing cloud of darkness pulsed forth; thousands of years of civilization wiped out in moments._

_Then suddenly, all was silent. She turned around again at the sound a powerful breath and stared directly into the fiery visage of the golden dragon._

**_"It begins again. Go West. Find the _****Kel_."_**

Sick to death of gods and demons, the Dragonborn simply ignored it. She had enough of their petulance after that mess they made over sixty years ago. 

But the dream persisted. 

Every other night she would wake from her bed with a cold sweat, her skin frazzled from the nerves. It was always the same; the same world breaking event. And every time, Akatosh would speak the same warning; cryptic as the runes on her greatsword. This led to restless nights as the dreaming forced her to wander the halls of Heljarchen, the castle she had constructed where the wooden manse she built once stood. She would spend countless hours pondering, or just trying to sleep again only to be catapulted from said attempt; Serana remarked that she was acting so frayed that at one point she made the perfect impression of a fish out of water. Nevertheless, Alycia had no idea what the vision meant, but at least she understood the last part. 

An Elder Scroll had been located, and it was in the west. 

So, she set off on her own, on the back of a massive dragon, flying beyond the Eltheric Ocean. First landing on the barren, black sanded coasts with an uncharted wilderness full of primitive tribes beyond, having only small trading outposts set up for ships looking to make a quick stop before heading east or west. The appearance of a dragon to people who had never seen one or believed them to be all dead was always amusing, but the Dragonborn was only there for business this time around. 

And what better place than an inn to learn of rumors and legends. 

That's how she learned of Valyria, a great city, probably the one in her dream, that stood for nearly five thousand years and was the epicenter of all trade, culture, and magic in the west... until it wasn't. 

"Where has that mind of yours headed off to now?" 

Thrown from her thoughts, the Dragonborn changed her focus to the dragon whose back she sat on. "How do you know I was thinking?" She asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

The white dragon craned her long neck over and stared at her with those perfect unfurled sapphires, still swinging her shimmering snow-white wings and flying blind like it was not suddenly the most dangerous action in the world. "You have that far off _luft_ in your eyes again." 

"You weren't even looking at me." Alycia retorted, brushing a lock of hair that blew across her face. 

"I don't need to _monah." _The dragon quipped, still not keeping her eyes on where she should when in flight. "After all these years, I can practically feel it at this point." 

Alycia contemplated the dragon for a moment. She calls her _monah, _the dragon word for mother. 

Well, it does make a sort of sense, hearkening back to her fifteen-year-old self discovering a blue streaked, snow-white egg beneath the Eldergleam tree in Skyrim, just over a century and a half ago. It hatched not long after under strange circumstances, and the white dragon has been with her ever since, growing rather quickly—even by the standards Jason and Daena had explained—and went through numerous battles with her towards the end of the Dragon Crisis and the years that followed. She practically raised her as if she were own child. 

She shrugged, "Point taken. I was just thinking about some of the stories told about these parts." 

_"Krosis,_ all we _have_ are just that: stories." The dragon huffed, "As I understand it, this region was home to an empire that rivaled the Septims and all the others before them in every way. The only difference is that these Valyrians never bothered to conquer their respective continent. And that they apparently commanded dragons." She all but spat that last part. 

"You don't approve." That was a statement of fact, not a question, she knew her all too well. 

"Of course not! Dragons are _not_ to be commanded." 

The Dragonborn wagged her eyebrows, "Mm-hmm. I have never heard you complain about me, _Zosiilviing_." Swift Wing in _Dovahzul_. Paarthurnax suggested it, due to her immense speed when flying; faster than any dragon in memory. 

The white dragon snorted, "You're different." 

"So were they. Blood of the dragon and all that." She retorted, annotating that last statement with a wave of her hands. 

"Having the _Dovahsos_ is not enough, and you know it. Otherwise we would have bowed to St. Alessia and her red diamond long ago, or perhaps even Reman Cyrodiil's descendants if the Akaviri Dragonguard had swallowed their pride." She was ranting again, "These Valyrians were no different, and their 'dragons' were little better than giant flying lizards with the intelligence of a dolphin. Animals, nothing more." 

"Dolphins, you say?" Alycia sniggered, leaning forward on Zos' neck and rested on her elbows. "Well, I can certainly argue that they would have been most preferable compared to the hassle you were. I mean, just look how well-behaved Jason and Daena's dragons were, who were quite possibly the last of their kind." 

_"Aan Dovah los ni aan aar."_

"And how do you know they were slaves?" 

Zosiilviing paused for a moment, "If they weren't slaves, then they were definitely pets!" 

Alycia rolled her eyes, _"Dii alnahn kiir,_ even after all this time, you still don't… WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING!" 

Normally, she would never use the reins tied around the large tusks protruding horizontally from Zosiilviing's mandibles. In fact, there were never any there to begin with, Alycia always directed her daughter on where to go with only words, trusting her to always listen. And she always did, but often, as what had just happened, Zos made a bad habit of always craning her head over to look directly at her Dragonborn rider when conversing in flight, never paying attention to what was in front of her. If they were high above the clouds, then the habit generally became a moot point. But below, well… one time they crashed into the White-Gold Tower in the Imperial City, scaring the Moth Priests out of their minds and making them soil their silk green and white robes. That was an interesting day. 

Alycia grabbed the leather bindings and pulled hard to the left as if she was raising the mainsail on a trireme. The white dragon screeched at the sudden pain but responded regardless and banked left with the speed of a coin toss. The Dragonborn felt the full force of the maneuver and made a death grip on the saddle lest she be thrown off. They barely missed the tall smoking mountain top and the tower leaning into it before reorienting themselves. 

"How many times have I told you?!" She scolded. "Watch. Where. You're. _Flying!"_

"You didn't exactly remind me, either." Zosiilviing hissed, shaking herself from the strain; her head _forward_ now. 

"That's not the point! You should know better." 

The dragon laughed, "Ah, yes, but _who_ did I get it from?" 

"Probably Jason, because I sure as hell never got _that_ inattentive back in those days!" Alycia shot back. 

"Oh, really now? What about that time in Roscrea?" 

Alycia let out an exasperated sigh, "Fine. Just circle this area for a bit." Zos grunted an 'ok' and started flying at a slower speed. 

The Dragonborn used this lull to take a better view of where they were flying around. This body of water is called the Smoking Sea, where the center of the Valyrian peninsula once stood. Four-hundred years ago, sometime before Emperor Uriel Septim VII was betrayed and impersonated by Jagar Tharn, word came about of a terrible cataclysm that shattered the very foundation of power in the West. 

The locals called it the Doom; an event in which the entire Valyrian Freehold was annihilated when the volcanic ring of mountains known as the Fourteen Fires erupted, hurtling smoke, ash, and molten rock into the skies, darkening them with a suffocating blanket of dust before falling back to the earth with a vicious lightning storm that not even their very mortal dragons could escape. The ground practically came alive as it shook and separated, spilling out lava and tore the peninsula apart, shattering thousands of years of civilization overnight. The seas filled in the gaps that formed afterwards, creating the fractured island chain she now looks upon. She noticed that some of those peaks were still releasing smoke and lava to this day; she would need to be careful. 

"Land there," She pointed at a beach in the southwest of the largest island, likely where the great city itself lay. "that's a good spot." 

"As you wish." 

Zosiilviing weaved through the rising smoke and landed her large form on a beach with a few shipwrecks. Many theories and stories have tried to explain what happened here and why: a natural disaster, wrath of the gods, a spell gone wrong? _It doesn't really matter now, does it?_

Alycia slid right off the saddle, falling over ten feet even with her daughter lowering herself as much as possible and landed with the grace of a Valenwood panther. Turning to face Zosiilviing, she gave her a nod with the unspoken order to continue circling the island. Huffing in response, the white dragon leapt into the air and soared back into the clouds. Dusting herself off, Alycia produced a senbon from her belt and wrapped her hair into a tight bun in anticipation of the grueling trek. 

Several sail boats and ships littered the coast, with some sticking out of the seabed. One thing they had in common was that they all bore red colored sails, with some salient animal, maybe a lion, stitched in, she couldn't tell, they were in complete tatters. It was oddly quiet, like the Arcaneum at the College of Winterhold, minus the flipping of pages from students gathering various ancient texts for research. 

She decided to first explore the wrecks marooned in the sands to get an idea of how many people were stupid enough to come here unprepared. 

She approached the largest, a galley, broken in half, listing into the seabed. It very clearly bore scars of battle; the wooden moss-covered hull was lacerated by powerful strikes and some precise punctures. It looked as though a rather _large_ seaborne creature wrapped itself around the ship the way a gryphon grasps its unicorn prey after diving upon it, sinking its razor talons into its white mane. 

Her left hand instinctively rested on the handle of one of her swords. _Hmm, perhaps they were prepared, and it didn't matter._ Krakens are common all round the world, the Maomer of Pyandonea have historically used them in their frequent attempts to conquer Alinor in the past, or in the seas around Akavir, where Tsaesci and Ka' Po' Tun sailors armed their ships with harpoons and scorpions to either hunt or fight off the beasts and even the Sunrise Sea beyond. They usually attacked lone, unsuspecting vessels, merchant ships really, striking quickly and dragging them underwater in minutes, but never a small group, or even warships, and this galley looked to have several escorts if the surrounding longships and dromonds bearing the same colors are anything to go by. 

Entering through the gaping hole on the bow's starboard side, Alycia was greeted with a most gruesome sight. 

Shriveled up corpses littered the deck; many were soldiers wearing worn but master crafted steel armor painted red and lined with fake gold. The same can be said of some of their weapons, but they have dulled and rusted, little better than a pa's axe to chase off wolves and skeevers on a farmer's plot. There were signs of struggle, yes, but not from weapons. Some were crushed against the wooden hull, likely by the kraken, others were holding their throats or just crushed completely; survivors attacked by other creatures. No mercy. 

Navigating through the ship, Alycia was careful to avoid any broken panels and floorboards, lest they break and cause her to fall into the submerged sections. Despite moving with the silence and guile of a sabrecat, the floorboards continued to creak and the ship lightly rocked from side to side from the incoming tide. So far, there was little to nothing of use in this ship, she explored what she could and moved towards the stern, all that was left was this double door, possibly the captain's quarters. She tried to open it, but it would not budge, barred from the other side. 

She rolled her eyes, "No, I am not interested in finding another dangerous, monster killing route today." Taking two steps back, her eyes painted an imaginary target in between the two handles. A few centuries ago, it might've taken several people to do this, but with all the mold, termites, and whatever else eats away at wood in humid areas over time… _Fuck it._

_CRASH!_

With a single hard kick, the doors blew open, splinters flung and dust taking off into the room's interior. Walking inside and sweeping the dust away with a pulse of magic, Alycia could see that this was not a captain's quarters, but a noble's. There was an old, withered feather bed, rotted silk curtains, and a desk with old parchment, paper and quills, any thing written now lost to time. The smell of centuries worth of rot flared her nostrils so much that Alycia had to cover her nose and mouth to avoid coughing. She waited for the smell to settle after a time before removing her hand, looking over the room for anything worth noting. Then she saw laying against the wall at the far end, a skeleton dressed in what looked like royal garb. It wore an old crown and grasped at a sword in its right hand, holding it over its left wrist. 

_A suicide. _The Dragonborn assumed, walking over to the corpse and kneeling before it to examine the two items in question, removing the crown. 

It had numerous tiny rubies and other precious gems encrusted in a complete circle and was made of solid gold with some steel, having the heads of four lions lined up, facing outwards with a snarling expression. It was also a tad bit heavy on the head as she amusingly tried it on, finding too big for herself. It almost exuded arrogance but definitely pride as well; a long heritage. Divines, he must have been quite the bighead in life, not even the crowns worn by the Aldmeri monarchs, both old and new, nor the circlets the Septim emperors wore with the Amulet of Kings were this immaculate and decorative. 

Then there was the sword: it was nearly as long as her own greatsword, had a tattered red leather-bound handle, a worn gold lion head for a pommel, gold cross-guard with a diamond-shaped ruby encrusted with, again, more gold in the center. Despite its deteriorated décor, it was still incredibly light and well balanced, making a nice _'swoosh'_ as Alycia twirled it. No weapon holds its edge after so many years of neglect unless it was magical, and she could sense it faintly, placing her palm on the flat of the sword. The blade was incredibly sharp with a smoked, rippled appearance; like it had been fed back to flames and folded over many, many times like the Akaviri katana. _Dragonsteel._ She surmised. _Can only be forged by using a dragon's flames to smelt steel, ebony, and dragonbone. _She twirled the blade like a baton again. _And ridiculously tedious and difficult to make without it, but the Gray-Manes and Balimund of Riften were able to do it using the Skyforge and Fire Salts respectively. Still worth a castle, though. Even more so, now that dragonbone has become virtually impossible to obtain._ On the fuller, she could make out the words, _'Here Me Roar' _carved in ascending order. _So, you were a king and not from around here. _She thought, examining the artifacts, and then to the regally dressed skeleton and concluded that the lion was the sigil and the words the family motto. 

_Glorified plunderer? Probably. _Musing, she swung the sword a few more times, getting a good feel of it. _I think I'll hold on to these for now, Your Grace. We'll see if your lion family is still around._ A hundred years ago, she would have kept them for herself; used the sword until a better weapon was found and sold the crown to Delvin Mallory. Now? She had no real use for them, preferring her own weapons. 

She always carried two swords: Strúniisk and Andúril_._

Strúniisk, strapped over her left shoulder, was a dragonsteel longsword with the onyx-black symbol of the Dragonborn, the same sigil once used by the Third Empire, carved into the center of the rain-guard. The blade was a rippled dark-blue silver, with a small cross-guard and a reinforced ricasso that had twin 'claws' protruding outwardly. Engraved in Dovahzul along its ebony fuller was the ancient Niben phrase, _'Alis Propriis Volat.'_ They fly with their own wings. The handle was silver and ebony, but very mundane. ***** Practicality was the word of that day as she had never desired for any sort of flashy, jeweled weapon that even Brynjolf, Vex, or Delvin would have stolen… if only as a prank. Eorland Gray-Mane presented this sword to her in the Imperial City in 5E 2, explaining to her that Jason commissioned it for her six years earlier with Zosiilviing providing her white-blue flames, but… well, no use dwelling on what might have been. So much happened over those six years that the poor blacksmith never got the chance to give it to her until after the earth and history had settled and the Fifth Era began. She has held it ever since, enchanting it over time to make it an exceptionally powerful weapon in her arsenal, almost legendary by this point. 

Hanging at her left hip was Andúril_,_ the ancestral two-handed greatsword of House Aldmeri that is as mysterious and old as the world itself. Longer than Alycia was tall at the age of fourteen, the blade was silver, near white when under the summer's sun or a winter's moon; the color of the pearls found along the bedrock shores of Summerset. It had a simple cross-guard and pommel made of silver-like steel; the handle made of ebony bound in black leather. Along the fuller and pommel were engravings in an unknown tongue. The metal itself was unknown, but impossibly light, wicked strong, and alive with magicka, able to block an attack from even a Daedric Prince. Its powers have never been fully understood, Alycia herself only being able to use two or three, but many believe it to have once belonged to Auri-El, the elven God of Light, who is also Akatosh, the Dragon-God of Time, and House Aldmeri has longed claimed direct lineage. It also has a mind of its own, not a true sentience but something more primal in that it chooses its own master. If you were not worthy, you would never be able to unsheathe it and if was already unsheathed, you would never be able to lift it. In the case of the latter, they once tested it by having Alycia lay it on the ground and had Zosiilviing attempt to lift it with her talons, only to fail miserably. Yet, when it was in its scabbard, anyone could hold it. Not that it mattered, Andúril has had no master since Erandun Aldmeri, the legendary Vestige and Hero of the Interregnum, and upon his death, High Queen Ayrenn of the First Aldmeri Dominion had it placed upon an altar inside the mausoleum she had constructed for her brother in Ebon Stadmont in honor of his achievements and decreed that it would never be removed until his one true successor came for it, something even the Thalmor of the Third Dominion took to heart. So, it sat there for centuries until a naïve, fourteen-year-old bastard princess, terrified and embittered, broke into the tomb and stole the sword when she ran away from home, but it wasn't until she faced down Alduin in the Battle Above the Throat that she was finally able to draw it. 

She sheathed the lionhead blade in its withered scabbard, slung it over her right shoulder and bagged the crown into the enchanted, medium-sized leather sack secured along her lower back. They might come in handy if she found the rightful owners. 

Emerging on the top deck, Alycia hopped off the ship and went back to where she originally landed and took a long, hard gaze into the uncharted jungle and ash infested ossuary of a once mighty civilization. Many tried to conquer this abandoned island; none succeeded nor were they ever seen again, they said; let this be another of _her _firsts. She took a quick breath, and started walking, her boots leaving a long trail in the wet sand, the tide closing and receding, washing them away. 

So too does Valyria maintain its secrets.

* * *

Dusk was beginning to settle as Alycia vaulted and climbed through the overgrown jungle. The heat of this place prickled at her pale skin, giving a minor sick feeling in her belly, the humid air did no favors either, as the half-breed for the fourth time in an hour, wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow. She was really glad that she dressed lightly and packed a few cooling potions. It wasn't that she could pass out, just very agitated. Her boots were already caked in mud and grime, some of it already on her trousers; the price of being swift and agile. Trekking through blacked out fields of salt and smoke or ruins overrun with foliage was nothing new to her. She did plenty of that exploring similar regions, some covered in frost or even submerged. Of course, those were either done out of simple curiosity or fetch and carry work leading to tomb raidings across in Tamriel, or training under the legendary Edgemasters in Akavir. Years of exploring ancient ruins and underground cave networks like the Dwemer cities taught her to always expect trouble, looking to the bodies of previous explorers as reference, so she took care to watch for any kind of booby-traps and even undead or wild animals making their lairs there. Aside from the wrecked ships along the coast and the ruins in the distance, there wasn't much of the Valyrians themselves barring a few skeletal remains here and there. Most may have been swallowed by the sea or incinerated by the ash and flames. Taking a small swig from her water sack, she kept moving, wondering why she had not yet encountered the demons that were said to lurk these lands. 

Just about everywhere she stopped on her way here, Asshai, Yi Ti, Qarth, and New Ghis, all of the locals gaped at her and her dragon, for obvious reasons of course, confirming the rumors that have been spreading for over a hundred years, but she paid no mind and answered what she deemed necessary and learned what she could about their cities in turn. But whenever she inquired about Valyria, a stroke of fear always crossed their ogling expressions, quickly leading to questions of why she would want to go there. That was when they went into a flurry of stories of demons, ghosts, the walking dead, pretty much everything that was essentially an everyday occurrence in Tamriel. 

_'The Doom still rules Valyria,' _they said. So do the ancients buried in their crypts back home, she thought. Nothing new there, really. 

And yet, once here... there was nothing. Just a lot of ruins with nature taking over; what was described was a smoked out land, dead to all forms of life, beholden to lava rivers and creatures seen only in your worst nightmares, (Hell, it honestly sounded like a terrible combination of Coldharbour and the Deadlands) turned out be nothing but old wives' tales. Then again, Alycia might just be looking at the aftermath and whatever 'still ruled Valyria' has long since moved on. It was deathly quiet though, the jungle being so dense, not even a light whistle of wind. She came across some rather interesting slabs of carved stone. Some were too weathered and crumbled to determine what they were exactly. Others looked to be a part of a building or palace of sorts. The stone was black and smooth to the touch yet looked completely out of place in this part of the jungle. As did the chunks of ebony that were strewn on the earth. _The eruptions must have been truly massive, probably enough to put the Red Mountain to shame._ Alycia thought. Five years into the Fourth Era, the Red Mountain erupted, destroying Vvardenfell with a sea of lava and blanketed the rest of Morrowind with ash and sent Heartstones as far as Cheydinhal. Many Dunmer were displaced and forced to resettle in other parts of Tamriel, Skyrim and Cyrodiil in particular. But at least they have made progress in recovering, slow and steady as it may be, Valyria on the other hand... ah, there was the difference; the Red Mountain didn't destroy a civilization, the Fourteen Fires did. 

Smoke even rose from the small ponds or lakes she came across, sometimes sprouting in large plumes of steam. Then there was the obnoxious smell that came with them. "Here be dragons." She concluded. Which meant that the water was both non-drinkable and the air was poisonous, unlike the relatively safe though still nauseating pools of Eastmarch Hold in Skyrim. She looked at the golden ring she wore on her left middle finger, a simple band encrusted with tiny sapphires and a large emerald carved like a gryphon's head in the center. One of the Aldmeri family rings, it contains several enchantments, two of which help resist poisons and diseases of any kind, giving her ample time to move through places that are filled with these noxious fumes. Having the dragon blood also helped; but not forever, so she quickly moved away from these places if there was nothing of interest. 

Eventually, the foliage cleared out and she came across an interesting construction beyond it: the remains of a solid black road standing half a foot tall on the ground. Upon closer inspection, Alycia could see that the black stone was completely solid, almost as if it was molded on the spot. "Dragonfire." She breathed in realization, kneeling for a closer examination. It felt warm to the touch, like a bed stone. _A highway system? Like the Archwood bridges in Akavir? _She wondered, slowly caressing the smoothness of the road. _Interesting. _The Valyrians were indeed sophisticated to use dragons for more than just war. 

They probably had their dragons melt the stone, then used whatever magic at their disposal to shape it into whatever they needed, be it roads, buildings, perhaps even statues. Alycia ran through several possibilities, recalling how the long extinct Ayleids and Snow Elves shaped their structures, the White-Gold Tower and the Chantry of Auri-El, being the most notable examples, she has seen. Then again, nearly all of the most ancient structures in Tamriel and Akavir were made with magic. 

Rising to her feet, she walked on the black road, assuming that it would take her to the city. 

About three hours later, she passed through a massive black gate that was made of the same stone as the roads, but half was completely crushed, an oversized boulder roughly the size of the manse she built a century ago sat on top, likely what destroyed it. Alycia deduced it as a piece of one of the mountains that blew off during the Doom. Even if it was made with magic, it can only do so much against nature's fury. Looking over the horizon, she could see the lava pouring out of the closest mountain. With these lava flows, she concluded that she would have to use her Voice to conjure some ice or even form a bridge if there was any in her path. 

Moving away from the gate, she came to another stop and gazed out, "So, this was the city of a thousand years." She announced, reciting a poem a magister from Qarth read to her. 

Before her stood a mass of broken black towers and shattered structures made with the same black stone, dark grey clouds filled with the smoke from the Fires that were still active hung above them. 

There was a hardly a standing building intact; those that did were cracked, destroyed, or even melted away at the roofs. But the overall layout was very much based on a class system, with commoners and travelers in the furthest reaches, having only the minimum living standards, but still far better than most places while the nobles and Dragonlords would have been behind those high walls closer to the center inside those towers that probably reached out for the clouds with their dragons, with their slaves crushed beneath them. She deduced that if it was anything like the other great old cities and ruins that she has been to, then the best loot and artifacts were likely there, and the Elder Scroll itself inside that very tall, ominous and rather intact black spire, a mass of black clouds swirling around it. _The spire._

Making her way through the former city, she found herself doing much of what she did in the jungles but came across the lava rivers as well. The layout seemed to be a chain of small islands divided by canals in a large lake of lava, connected by a series of bridges made of black stone that connected each island. Many had collapsed into the molten rock though, and about half of the islands themselves were either listing or completely submerged. 

With no way across one river, **_"Iiz… Fost!" _**Alycia Shouted. 

A tight stream of the coldest ice known surged from her mouth, blanketing the lava river. She heard the tell-tale _snap _as the lava flash froze into shiny, glass-like ebony. Or obsidian, or dragonglass. Whatever you prefer to call it; three names for one smithing material that was always a hassle to work with. Ceasing her Voice before it broke the stone from the sheer cold, she moved her hands to her hips to admire her work for a few moments, a literal bridge now existed across the river of molten rock. Nodding, she quickly walked across before it melted again. She thought she saw a pair of intelligent eyes staring at her in the lava lake as she crossed, orange creased with red, maybe even a snout, but when she turned to face them, they were gone. _So, there _is _still life here._

Soon enough, the pair of eyes re-emerged, followed by three others, each regarding her with a primal intelligence, like a pack of wolves when staring down a stronger animal. 

**_"Drem." _**She said, her Voice subtly vibrating the air. She honestly was not expecting it to work, much less get them to rise out of the lava. They were large, serpent-like creatures, similar to basilisks or giant snakes, except their scales were rock hard, with what looked like lava flowing through them like a sort of natural armor. Standing over twenty feet above her, the lead serpent lowered itself until its carriage-sized head was bearing directly into her red eyes which she equally met. Any other person would have screamed and tried to strike the beast and the story would have ended there, but Alycia had seen worse and shared the same curiosity the creatures did. It took a long draft of air as it took in her scent, the Dragonborn catching the barest widening of its fiery eyes. The wyrm huffed at her before giving her the smallest bow, its eyes never leaving her, the other three following suit. Alycia cocked her head in surprise just they slithered back into the lava river, the molten rock never stirring again. _Okay... That was new. The dragons only did that once, and that was after Alduin's defeat, but these... hmm. Blood of the dragon indeed._

She moved on and entered the more market-oriented parts, and it was not long before she finally started seeing the charred remains of the city's inhabitants; skeletons with tattered garbs and statues made of ash. She gasped at the sight, covering her nose again as another deathly stench flared her nostrils. _Divines… they never stood a chance._ Some of these corpses, the statues, were in a sort of fetal position or prostration, expressions of terror and pleading forever marked on their faces; praying for a quick end, or to wake from the nightmare. Others, like a mother and child underneath the charred rubble of a market stall, were solid ash as they took cover, the mother holding her daughter close, trying her best to comfort her even though it was useless. More than a few were contorted in strange angles; they saw it, they heard it, and tried to run, only for the ash and fires to swallow them whole before they could even complete the first step. 

Then there were the dragons; bones as black as iron like the ones back home, broken and scattered about the destroyed buildings or in small craters, falling out of the sky like meteors. _How easy it must be for an ordinary day to go horribly wrong in the blink of an eye._ She would know. She thought of using the Resurrection Shout on the dead beasts, but that would open a sleuth of complications, because for them, it would be the equivalent of being born again, as was the case with Sheepstealer and the Cannibal, who now carry the names Faalvahlok and Jiidvennah, respectively. Add to the fact that most of the skeletons have been destroyed or are in pieces all over the land and the Shout would only work on a near-complete skeleton, something she discovered when she tried the Shout on Numinex's massive skull in Dragonsreach, and to her embarrassment, nothing happened. _Maybe Paarthurnax can lead a _bod tah_ of dragons here at some point in the future._

Interesting architecture, though. Alycia was half-expecting it to be similar to the Imperial City, with its white stone, shaped by the Ayleids, or Alioth with its massive domes and the Grand Coliseum built by the great warriors led by the First Edgemaster, Noctis Arcturus, or even Alinor with its glass-like ivory towers; a connection to the ancients, particularly the Wandering Ehlnofey. Aedric worship by Man was influenced by their elven masters when the Ayleids ruled Cyrodiil with an iron fist. Only the most ancient of the Nordic ancestral culture indicated that Men had their own pantheon, coming from the frozen land of Atmora far to the north of Tamriel. The Old Gods they were called, but then they turned to animal worship and ultimately the dragons and that was a different story entirely. The Aedra, or the Divines, the ancient spirits worshipped as gods in Tamriel, have always stayed out of the affairs of Man and Elf, preferring them to stumble, fall, and get back up. The Daedra, on the other hand, while sharing similar origins, were the opposite. They constantly intervened when it best suited them, in some cases causing mass destruction and chaos, such as the Oblivion Crisis by Mehrunes Dagon, or have far reaching consequences such as when Molag Bal created the first vampire. Their worshippers tended to build their temples and shrines in isolated locations, far from the cities of Tamriel, because of the taboo surrounding them. Only Azura, Mephala, and Boethiah were exempt from this, being the primary pantheon of the Dunmer. However, not all Daedra were evil; Azura was benevolent and motherly, like a twilight counterpart to the Divines Kynareth and Mara; Nocturnal was a no-nonsense business lady of the shadows, being a patron to thieves; Meridia was never born of Sithis to begin with, but one of the Magna-Ge, cast down from Aetherius after some cross with Magnus, or so the legends go. Their respective realms in Oblivion were among the most beautiful and vibrant places Alycia had ever seen, surpassing even a few planes in Aetherius. 

But the city she was exploring? An inverse of them, the designs and patterns more reminiscent of Coldharbour, the Deadlands, Apocrypha, and even the Soul Cairn. Menacing spike towers, each with a dragon statue perched on it; cathedral-like structures that appeared to be temples to the Freehold's respective pantheon, but were really large palaces for the nobility, surrounded by large, black and grey walls; a true city of Man. Now? Ruins, ruins, and ruins. 

_Who in Oblivion did you people piss off to have this happen to you?_

The Dragonborn's eyes widened in realization at her own question; it almost made sense. The architectural similarities with the realms of Oblivion, the vast amount of wealth and knowledge they held at their apex, outlasting every kingdom and empire that ever rose in Tamriel, and their sudden, catastrophic end over four-hundred years ago. 

A familiar chill crept up her spine, making her hair stand on end as Hermaeus Mora's words regarding Miraak echoed in her mind. That grotesque mass of tentacles with its odorless slime and eyes drilling into her soul as it hovered above her in that gods forsaken realm, caressing her cheek when it spoke to her. 

**_'All that he knows he learned from me.'_**

"All that _they_ knew they learned from you…"

* * *

Scaling the inner walls of the city proved to be no real challenge. Cracked and collapsed in some places, she only had to actually climb a few times whilst hopping and trotting everywhere else. Once she was inside, she could see the divide between highborn and lowborn much more clearly; the size and designs of what amounted to smaller versions of the Alinor Palace was laid for all to see. Arrogance abounds, these people were just like the Thalmor. Her father would have hated them on the basis of being Men and… 

…is that statue made of solid diamond? 

"Motherfucker…" She was really starting to berate herself for coming here alone, she should have organized a full expedition. There was so much here, left untouched since the Doom. It may have been somewhat out of respect, but… Oh how is this any different from the old Nordic tombs and the Tang Mo Stone Towers? Even those ships from earlier? She sighed and held her head, "Serana and Eldrien are never going to let me live this down if I return with only what _I _could carry." They were already miffed about her not bringing them along. At least Serana was, the vampire was as much her sister as her real one, Vyrandia, the Queen of the Aldmeri Dominion. 

Lightly cutting the underside of her left thumb with the nail on her middle finger, she drew blood and a ball of dark violet light formed in her palm. She then snapped her two fingers, the magic making a loud, crackling sound like flint striking stone. Beside her, a large portal connecting to Oblivion materialized and more than a handful of tall, well-built Dremora Lords and two Valkynaz stepped out of it, regarding her with much respect as they kneeled before her. 

"You called for us, mistress?" The leader asked. 

"Yes, Abraksis. I require your aid in this decrepit city." Alycia answered in her royal tone. "Scour the ruins and take whatever useful valuables you may find back to Oblivion and await my call when my business here is concluded." 

"As you command." Abraksis bowed his head and got to his feet. 

The rest of the Daedric soldiers rose and dispersed into the inner city, with Abraksis supervising. _There, problem solved._

Later, she stood before the massive spire… no, massive wasn't the right word, it was _monstrous_. And untouched despite the utter devastation surrounding it. That familiar chill returned in force when she saw the spire was made of the kind of stone and metal found only in Oblivion. It was jagged in appearance, with several large spikes protruding upwards in a non-uniform pattern. If anything, the tower looked like a skinny mountain, but not naturally made, yet intimidating all the same. It looked like there was only one entrance though, on top of over a hundred steps. 

They were flanked by sixteen different kinds of sphinxes going up. Each had the body of a dragon, but their features were different: One had wings like a bat with nasty-looking tusks protruding from its mandibles; Bal. The other had eight eyes, three tails, and tentacles coming out of its head; Mora. One had the face of a man with jewels and ornaments encrusted along the jaw and chin, large horns on its forehead; Vile. Another nearly stood like a man and had four arms and wicked fangs; Dagon. And that was just the ones intact, the rest were in pieces. 

"It looks like Valyria angered the Princes." She thought aloud, reaching the top, hands on her hips. She turned around and looked back at the pile of rubble laid before the tower. "And the Princes responded in kind." 

She placed her hands on the massive black doors and pushed them opened. Once inside, the sun's light vanished, a perpetual ink like the wisps in the Soul Cairn swallowed her whole. The spire's interior was very different compared to the rest of the ruined constructs; it was hollow, very hollow, essentially a bottomless chasm, save for another, smaller spire in the center, a cold blue light emanating from the opening at its base, connected by a large stone bridge. There were also a series of terraces that ascended towards the roof, as seen from the entrance, but if they had any braziers, they had gone out long ago. The remains of Valyrian nobles, priests, soldiers, and even a small dragon littered the floors all around her, mostly gathered at the only way in or out. 

_Gods… you weren't trying to stop something from getting in…_ She kneeled over one of the skeletons that appeared to be crawling _towards_ the exit. It, like all the others, was ripped to pieces. _Something stopped _you_ from getting out._

_Thruuuuuuuuum._

She flinched at that sound, sensing an enormous amount of magic that was not here when she initially entered, releasing in pulses. 

_Thruuuuuuuuum._

Standing up, she turned towards the source, the smaller spire in the center. "A focal point…" she said and focused on the sound that seemed to press against her dragonsoul. If anything, it was a smaller version of the tower itself, but magic was practically pouring from it, the blue light now at its brightest. 

_Thruuuuuuuuum._

But upon closer inspection, she saw the shape of the entrance: the OHT symbol of an Oblivion Gate. 

"Figures." Alycia sighed, looking over the dead Valyrians, "So, you were invaded and slaughtered to make sure there were no survivors." She tapped at her chin with her index finger. _This may have been similar to the Battlespire back home. But why weren't they ever encountered by the Mages Guild, or even the Psijic Order?_

Steeling herself, the Last Dragonborn walked through the Gate, the ice-cold light swallowing her whole. 

Her sight was not blinded by the light as it bristled along her body. The inside of the smaller spire was an inverse of the larger structure: a nothingness of white; solid but empty. There was truly nothing. If anything, Alycia may have stepped into another realm of Oblivion. She felt as if her veins were snapping to ice. She could still move, still walk forward, but her body felt heavy, her soul growled, and Andúril vibrated intensely at her side. Something was here. 

She felt a prickle stab on the back of her right hand. Holding it up, her eyes widened as her birthmark glowed in its white-red color for the first time since the end of the Second Dominion War. 

**"You're probably wondering why the ole' dragon's pulling your leg again, Olly. Or is it your wings? Your hair maybe? Can't really decide when all that super blood in your veins is considered."**

_Oh, for the love of… _Alycia slouched forward and hung her head in exasperation. Then in a blur, she faced the source of that laughing voice with a sarcastic smile, pointing Andúril directly at his chest. "It's Alycia, and I am in no mood for a '_random discussion'_ on the role of madness in the Elder Scrolls." 

**"But that's the beauty of it isn't it? The Valyrians thought they could use the Scroll they found here to make themselves gods. Hah! They got too greedy and ended up letting something, or several things get loose from underneath those mountains instead. Heheheheh. It was a short story after that."**

An elderly looking man slowly meandered towards her. His posture was that of a highborn; important and entitled, head held high and well-dressed. More accentuated by the regal purple and orange doublet, though there was also a long, wool cloak flowing behind his shoulders this time. He was stroking his white beard, which was now longer, and twirled a cane as he stopped just from touching Andúril_'s _point, the sword glowing a light blue. 

"Easy there, Mad Prince, I've already used this once…" 

**"Bahahaha! That's why I've always liked you, Olly!" **replied Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince Madness, throwing his head back in laughter, before suddenly staring daggers at her with those rabid white eyes. **"You're the only one who would ever be _mad_ enough to point a weapon at a demented Daedric Lord, or any Lord for that matter, and live to tell about it. Well, except for that crazy Eldrien Dark Elf who knocked the Wolfman all willy nilly. And your ancestor Erandun against big Bally. Good show! I guess it runs in the family."**

"You're here to tell me something?" Alycia narrowed her eyes. The grip on her ancestors' sword tightened, the weapon in turn vibrating much more intensely, glowing brighter, the runes along its fuller and pommel did the same but with a piercing white-violet light. If the sword had eyes, they would be glowering at him. "Because I doubt you're just here to say hello." 

**"Well, when you put it that way."** Sheogorath gave his beard another graceful stroke, **"Now, what was it again?** **Oh, right!" **He clapped his hands together,** "Big changes are coming, Olly! That's right, huge, world-breaking changes!"**

"Of course, it is…" Alycia said in exasperation, lowering her sword. "Who is it _this_ time?" 

**"If it were that simple, the ole' dragon would've told you in those dreams." **The madman started to circle her, his cane tapping the white void with each step, sending ripples through her soul. **"You ever wonder why winters and summers last so long?"**

"I'm assuming it has something to do with the way the Dawn Era ended?" 

**"Exactly! Always smarter than everyone likes to think. Not like all the others who only thought with their swords and spells. Then again, those people were almost always a couple o' nobodies sitting in some cell somewhere waiting for their heads to lopped off. Then BOOM! Destiny happens." **He pointed his cane at her, **"But you? You're special. You've always been special..."**

"Your point?" 

**"Nothing at all. Just an observation. Now, as to why the ole' dragon led you here, well, wouldn't we like to know? I'm just here to give you a hint at what's coming, and what you do from here is up to you, like it's always been. You should remember some of those ancient stories told all across Nirn, have something in common. Just think on that."**

Alycia took this moment to sheathe Andúril_,_ "Why is it always secrets with you?" 

**"That's the thing, Olly. There are no secrets. Even we don't know what's going to happen in the coming years. Now that's a first for supposedly the most powerful beings in all existence! The Scrolls may have some idea, but when have they ever been straight with us, hmm? What we do know is that an old and terrible enemy is coming back." **Alycia perked at the sudden trepidation in Sheogorath's usually crazed-laced tone. Was that worry? She could have sworn she heard him mutter 'the final greymarch.' Whatever it was, it was quickly replaced by the usual grin that always reached his eyes.** "There are several things you need to take from this tower, all of them lying inside a large chest at the very top. One is the Elder Scroll. Hold on to it for now, it wouldn't let you read it even if you took to that grove in Skyrim. As for the others… well…" **She could see the tell-tale smirk of maniacal laughter creeping onto his lips, **"… you'll just have to see them for yourself! Oh, and by the way, one of the creatures that helped destroy this city is still here!"**

Shit. 

**"Andhe'sstandingrightbehindyou…"**

"DAMN YOU, SHEOGORATH!" Alycia whirled around as another bright flash overtook the white void and she was back inside the central structure which, unsurprisingly had a massive interior. She unsheathed Andúril again just in time to block a massive sword from a _very _large Daedric Titan. 

"Shit!" Despite the block and the fact that she was _much_ stronger than she looked, the Titan pressed its advantage and pushed forward, throwing the Dragonborn across the chamber. Alycia managed to control her brief flight and planted her feet against the wall, caving in the black stone before leaping off and landing on the floor. The Titan in turn growled at her, its black scales oozed with that inky blood that was reminiscent of the waters in Coldharbour. Its wings were old and tattered but could probably still carry the decrepit beast into the sky if necessary. There were wounds all across its body and burns on its face, bite marks on the legs, and it was missing a horn on its head; the Valyrians put up a fight. 

Alycia looked upon the false dragon with pure, unadulterated hatred, memories put to rest boiled to the surface. "Even in death, your influence still pervades the world." 

The Titan responded by slamming its heavily serrated Daedric greatsword on the floor before letting out an earth-shaking roar and charged at her. Alycia in turn, twirled her greatsword twice before taking a step to the left, a gust of dust was all that remained before the Titan slammed its sword. Like a lance of lightning across the skies, the Dragonborn darted across the chamber, dodging the boat sized sword as it cleaved cleanly through the wall, her mastered use of a powerful teleportation spell that she liked to call Blink-Step. Fighting a Daedric Titan, among the most powerful creatures seen in Oblivion indoors is rather difficult, suicidal even, since there was not much room to work with and given its size and strength, the damn monster could bring the smaller spire down; fortunately, this spire's interior was larger, so she could keep a good distance. Feeling the crackling sounds through her fingers, the Dragonborn threw up her left hand and let loose a bolt of lightning. 

The spell struck true on the beast's head, severing a piece of its other horn. The Titan roared in fury and opened its mouth, unleashing a gout of aqua colored flames from which she promptly dove away. Magicka flames were actually somewhat cooler than regular flames and burned much more slowly, but also had a tendency to rapidly drain an individual's magicka reserves, and if not, their strength. That wouldn't make them any less painful, however. 

They scorched the spot Alycia dove from, if she had spared a second to glance at them, she would have noticed the Daedric sigil carved into the stone floor absorb the flames and emit a blue light. She instead glared at the unusual ice-blue eyed Titan, **_"YOL!"_**

A huge fireball coursed from her mouth, slamming into the Titan and bringing it to its knees as it screeched in pain from the intense heat. Sparing no time, Alycia sprinted at the demon and leaped at its head, Andúril held up for a slamming strike. The Titan held up its greatsword and barely parried the attack, throwing another aqua fireball at the Dragonborn who dodged in turn, landing and using her Whirlwind Sprint to put some distance. The Titan charged at her again and this time she took advantage of its momentum, sliding beneath the groin area and striking the left leg with her sword. The demon roared in pain from being cut with the legendary sword, swinging broadly in a near full circle and Alycia somersaulted off her knees to avoid it and sprung off its back. The creature responded in kind, swinging and thrusting, but she was swifter and bolder, like her teachers always told her. She continued this dance for a few minutes; leaping and bounding, maintaining her distance and striking when able. Eventually, she started throwing her spells into the mix, from her left hand and from her sword. One of Andúril's perks was that she could cast her spells through it as though it were a staff, and that was not all it could do, but she did not feel the need to unleash what she could, the blade alone was sufficient against the Titan. 

_Brrrruuuuuunduuuuuuuum!_

Alycia briefly lost her balance as the ground began to shake and shift, she could see the Titan was having similar trouble but not quite as much; it was still in running with the intent of spearing her on its sword. 

Diving to the right, narrowly avoiding the stomping beast, she rolled onto her feet just in time to watch it slam into the stone wall. That was when the floor started to rise, and they were ascending towards the roof of the larger spire. Twirling her sword, Alycia huffed at the convenience after finally noticing the glowing runes on the floor, "Well, I was going to go up anyways…" 

A loud growl got her attention and she ducked just in time to avoid another broad swing from that ridiculous sword. 

_Alright, now where were we?  
_

* * *

Amidst the ruins of the great city, the spire stood as what many called a testament to Valyria's resilience; a tattered monument to the dragonriders at the height of their power. Even if they were not the ones who originally built it. 

From the top of the spire, one had a breathtaking view of the city below, and the land beyond. It's also more than likely the roof also served as a roost for the Freehold's most powerful dragons and their Dragonlords. But in the center, was a rather large hollow dais, where a platform from the interior was supposed to rise from. 

Nothing had risen from there in over four hundred years, until now. 

The expansive roof shook from years of disuse as the dais grated open, a platform emerging from it, accompanied by two supernatural warriors locked in a dance of death. 

Alycia continued to leap and slide around the Daedric Titan like an Akaviri Shinobi, scoring several more hits and leaping away, whilst completely unscathed using Blink-Step or even Whirlwind Sprint as she saw fit. The beast was growing angrier if the snarl on its face, revealing those chipped, razor-sharp teeth was anything to go by. She also cut off another one of its remaining tusks, Andúril doing its job and the creature was left trying its utmost best to avoid the legendary weapon as it tried to kill her. 

The platform shook one last time as it connected with the dais with a stone _click!_ Seeing an opportunity, the Dragonborn dodged and once again used Whirlwind Sprint to put some distance before Shouting to the clouds, **_"ZOSIILVIING!" _**And threw out a powerful ward to hold back another gout of magicka flames. 

Her Voice echoed through the skies like a clap of thunder, the very fabric of the mortal plane shaking, and in the distance, she could hear her daughter roar in response. The green light of Blink-Step enveloped her again as the Titan brought its sword down, missing completely and she stabbed her own into its right arm. It batted her away like a fly and sent her careening into a stone monolith, making an indent and knocking it over just a large beam of white lightning struck the Titan square in the chest, propelling it to the other side of the roof. It would have been fine if it just fell and Zosiilviing could finish it off with another volley from her Burst Stream Destruction Shout, but fate was a grouchy old bitch and proceeded to throw another hammer into the trailblazing monomyth that was her life. 

The bloody Titan made a grab for an obnoxiously large Ebony chest, probably _her_ chest, conveniently sitting on an altar of sorts as it was thrown off and flew away with it, heading northwest. 

Alycia rose from the block, holding a minor healing spell as a small trail of blood trickled down her face. The crossbreed shook her head with mirth and vexation, "What are the fucking odds…" 

The winds gusted her as her dragon made to land, but the Dragonborn sheathed her sword and held up her left hand, silently commanding the dragon to maintain her flight and gestured her to come closer to the spire's roof. Zosiilviing nodded and came as close as she could, and Alycia used Whirlwind Sprint to leap right off the tower and onto the white dragon's back. 

Securing herself on the saddle, she made a vice grip on the handles and grit her teeth. 

"Run. It. Down…"

* * *

**A/N: Okay, almost forgot about this part, explanations. So, yeah, first story, be nice. I have no idea how far this will go, this is something that's been burning in my head since before Season 6, but I wanted the show to end first before I really got into it, hell the prologue was even done a year and a half ago, hence why the Battle of Winterfell looked a bit different, though it may change by the time this story reaches that point, because that's what tends to happen with '_in media res' _prologues. I'm open to suggestions and yes, the ending will be very different from the disaster that was Season 8 of Game of Thrones.**

**As you saw in some parts, this will be AU in many ways as I am attempting to merge the lore of the two worlds as best as possible. Of course, there are several elephants in the room, the first one being magic. When it comes to magic between Elder Scrolls and A Song of Ice and Fire, the difference is night and day. Subtle and almost nonexistent in one story, and completely in your face in the other. This makes the two almost incompatible unless you only go by the gameplay mechanics of the Elder Scrolls series, but that makes the storytelling very stale, to me at least. So, yeah explanation may seem half-assed right now, but I'm still working it out. Also, dragonglass, obsidian, ebony, frozen fire; those are four names for one stone, Tamriel just has more and is better at using it.**

**The second elephant is the Dragonborn, probably the biggest one. I'll make it perfectly clear; the way Alycia will be written is essentially like a medieval version of a superhero with her backstory being told mostly in flashbacks and recounting from herself and those that know her personally. As such, this takes place over 130 years after TESV, and a _lot_ has happened since, just about everyone we saw in _Skyrim_ is long dead (more than half before the Fifth Era began), save for a select few and there will be quite a few OCs. That being said, Alycia's interaction with Westeros this early can have a massive butterfly effect, so, the first 3-4 chapters will focus from her arrival in Westeros to the end of Robert's Rebellion, laying the groundwork, and then a time-skip to Season 1/AGOT. After that, her role is essentially diminished from Westerosi politics, because let's face it, a character like that in this type of setting is a Mary Sue through and through. Any future chapters featuring Alycia after the Rebellion will be in Tamriel where it's even more dangerous for her until midway through the story (if I ever get that far) when things get really, _really,_ screwed up. (Though it might change depending on how things go.)**

**The third elephant is the Villain. Well, it's someone we all know, yet have almost nothing on. (No, not the Night King. Worse.) This enemy will also have a group of his own, and the Others/White Walkers are more of a symptom of a disease.**

**Fourth elephant, the dragons. Even though they're flying around Tamriel and rumors of their return spread like wildfire, as GRRM said himself, as far as the people of Westeros and Essos are concerned, the dragons are dead and there are always sightings from around and beyond the Known World, and the Maesters make a habit of disputing these claims. I also read _Fire and Blood_ and will work that into the lore here as much as possible, but to be clear, the idea of Nettles getting knocked up by Daemon Targaryen and then hers and Sheepstealer's escape to Tamriel after the Dance of the Dragons and towards the end of the First Dominion War was an idea I had long before the book came out, more on that and the Cannibal later. Also, the Voice will be much closer to lore than in _Skyrim;_ the dragons and the Dragonborn will be capable of shattering continents but they _always_ hold back. For now…**

**Finally, if you haven't noticed yet, I am borrowing a few things from other franchises, but not a whole lot. If you know what Burst Stream of Destruction is, you know exactly what I'm talking about, and yes, Zosiilviing is a Blue-Eyes White Dragon, I just couldn't resist, and her appearance is the cover art, only a hell of a lot bigger, and stands on all fours rather that upright. Blue-Eyes White Dragons and Red-Eyes Black Dragons are really special amongst the _dovah_ and the names of their attacks from _Yu-Gi-Oh!_ is all I am taking from that series. Also, Andúril and three other Lord of the Rings weapons (Orcrist, Sting, and Glamdring) are being borrowed as well, but with slightly altered descriptions and powers to fit this narrative, with their own backstory. Finally, Soul Calibur but not a whole lot either, and most definitely not the two swords unless I think of a way to bring them in without being too apocalyptic. If anything, it will only be weapons and styles, with most references being set in Akavir, particularly city names seen in Soul Calibur II. There will also be some magic seen in the _Fable _series featured here as well.**

***That's basically the Sword of the Ancient Tongues with my own spin on it. If you don't know what that is, it's a mod on the Nexus site made by Corvalho1. Really cool sword.**

**Whew! Okay, now with that out of the way, updates will be sporadic or at least one chapter per month, because I tend to right 10 to 15,000 words each. Eventually, I will upload a sort of codex for certain things like weapons and events that took place in the past, Mass Effect style.**

**Cheers! - Noobie**


	3. Chapter 2: What You Wish For

_"__Men are haunted by the vastness of eternity. And so, we ask ourselves: Will our actions echo across the centuries? Will strangers hear our names, long after we're gone, and wonder who we were? How bravely we fought? How fiercely we loved?" – Troy_

* * *

**26****th**** of Sun's Height, 5E 129/279 AC**

The sun was beginning set over the lands known as the North, one of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, giving the skies a pinkish-red color and the clouds an odd purple. The day had been mildly chilly; not warm but not freezing either; spring had indeed come, not that it really mattered up here. The North was always cold, even in the summer, where snowfall was not uncommon. The winters however, were absolutely brutal; snow that fell forty feet deep, rainfall that sometimes turned into hail, and worst of all, famines, were a regular occurrence. The North was also easily the largest of the kingdoms, nearly the size of the other six combined and has a long and arduous history, going back thousands of years, so much so, that despite the invasion of the Andals, it has managed to retain much, if not all, of its culture and practices, likely the reason why its inhabitants remain a fierce and hardy people, prone to mistrust outsiders. Curiously, one of its most enduring aspects was the ancient castle of Winterfell, the seat of House Stark, an ancient family that has ruled the region, first as the Kings of Winter, then the Wardens of the North, for over eight thousand years. Their history is as synonymous with the Wall, furthest north, and the Wolfswood, an expansive forest of great mystery, just an hour's ride away. Stretching from the Bay of Ice to Torrhen's Square, the forest covered most, if not all of the northwestern half of the North. It was full of so many different trees, including oaks, evergreens, chestnuts, ironwood, and the occasional weirwood; and wolves, whose howls are heard frequently in the dead of night, hence the name. It is in these woods that seven riders galloped through the old trails, one slightly farther ahead and gaining and six others wearing steel armor and weapons with two bearing banners of a grey direwolf upon a white field. 

_There must be more to this life._ The thought passed through her mind more than once as the endless stream of trees, timber, and stone blurred past her. 

Do not mistake her, she loved her life. She loved her home, Winterfell, the seat of her family and capital of the North; she loved her father, Rickard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell and her late mother, Lady Lyarra; she loved her brothers Brandon, Eddard, and Benjen; she loved the northern winds that always blew, occasionally bringing snows during the summer; she especially loved riding, which she was doing at this very moment, her white mare charging through the Wolfswood with Benjen and five of their father's soldiers trailing behind her. 

"Come now, are you really my father's best?" She shouted over her shoulder, "How can you protect me if you can't even keep up?" 

"Wha- m'lady?!" The guard flubbed his words as he trotted along, his plump cheeks shading red, he almost looked like an apple ripe for plucking at this distance. She giggled at the sight of him. 

"I'll take that challenge, Lya!" Her brother, Benjen, shot back, a laugh in his eyes, urging his own grey stallion on, beginning to close the distance. The rest of their guard pressed to keep up. 

Lyanna Stark smirked and urged her mare to go faster, the wind billowing through her long brown locks and grey-blue cloak with her little brother close behind, the galloping now becoming a fierce race. They crossed over an old stone bridge, near an ancient, decrepit watch tower with overgrown moss and strewn stones. She could hear the hooves of the horses her father's men rode growing fainter, save for Benjen's, who preferred either the courser or destrier, allowing him to always be able to keep up with her. But she was always the better rider, all too aware of what some of Lord Stark's bannermen and the lords and ladies said of her skill, only surpassed by the elder Brandon. 

Yes, she had a good life. But even then, she would always wish for something more. 

"I'm almost on you Lya!" Benjen yipped, his sharp eyes fixated on beating her. 

"In your dreams, Ben!" Lyanna shot back, spurring further ahead. She decided to veer off slightly into a narrower trail that would force Benjen to slowdown and stay behind her. 

"Come on, girl! You can do better." She urged her mare, the horse grunting in response and spurred even faster through the woods. But at the last moment, Lyanna's eyes widened at the fallen tree on the path in front of her. _Shit!_ She was about to pull hard on the reins, only to yelp in astonishment and hold on for dear life as she experienced the sudden feeling of weightlessness for more than four seconds when the mare instinctively leapt over the log and not-so-gracefully landed on its strong hooves and kept galloping, grunting in discomfort. Lyanna could have sworn she briefly bounced off the saddle. Slightly shaken, she lightly pulled on the leather bindings and her steed slowed to a steady walk. She looked over her shoulder to see the pup closing in until he was just short of being in line with her, he and the others having slowed down to go around the tree. 

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" He asked. 

"Well, it was exhilarating." She grinned mischievously. 

Benjen deadpanned, "I'll take that as a yes." 

Lyanna could only rolled her eyes at his jab and stared off in the distance. "I can see the hills outside of the forest and the sun's already down. We should hurry, else father will have another fit about us being out so late again." 

"Aye." Benjen laughed, "He might even have half a mind to send you to Storm's End much earlier." 

Lyanna glared daggers at him, "Not funny." 

"What?" Benjen continued his jab, "Maybe sometime in the south might curb your wildness." 

The only response was the sound of straining leather as the grip on her reins tightened. 

"Robert can't be _that _bad of a match? Can he?" 

It was only two moons since Eddard came to visit from the Eyrie, in the Vale of Arryn, bringing his friend Robert Baratheon with him. Lyanna knew within minutes that the man was completely enamored with her. To say that it was rather awkward was like getting caught stealing a dragon egg. Even more so when she learned that her father had already been corresponding with the young Lord of Storm's End, with Lord Jon Arryn providing input, in arranging a betrothal, waiting to tell her when the man finally came to Winterfell… her father was rather happy with the match when he finally announced it, of course. 

In hindsight, it would not be so bad, except… oh, who was she kidding? Ok, Robert was handsome, yes; he had the classic Baratheon look, thick black hair and striking blue eyes.; he was strong, _very_ strong, tall with broad shoulders and a well cut body, he was probably one of the most eligible men in the realm right now; women flocked to him. _Bad sign. _Robert was temperamental. _Bad sign._ Robert was _adventurous_. _Bad sign. _He was already a father. _Bad sign. Bad sign._ _Bad sign. _She internally sighed. _There it is. _Indeed, it was a rumor she had heard of him already fathering a daughter in the Vale. The mother is a serving girl at the Eyrie. That was the bad sign for her. How long before he did it again? How many times, even before? The fact that the final arrangements were made before the moons even reached the stars that night infuriated her. While she did not show it, playing the parts that were always to taught to her, she was screaming inside. It was not getting married that was the issue; she knew it was her duty after all. They all did. She knew one day she would have to marry into another family, being the daughter of one of the great lords of Westeros. The same can be said of Brandon, who will one day be Lord of Winterfell. 

However, they always expected to marry members of other houses in the north, like it had always been, but their lord father had other plans. She still remembered the argument Brandon had with him, when he was told that he had been betrothed to Catelyn Tully of Riverrun to the south. _Poor Barbrey_. she thought. It was not exactly a secret that Rodrik Ryswell's daughter was more than close with her elder brother; Brandon spoke of her often whenever he was back at Winterfell. Despite the tirade, Brandon would still do as his duty bade him, and meet his betrothal when they all rode south for the tourney a quarter moon from now. 

She too acknowledged this was her duty as well. 

But married to a man like Robert? Hogwash. Even after Eddard found her in the godswood later that night after the announcement, he tried to convince her that anything the man did before would not matter when they married; that he was a good man and he would love her and treat her well. 

_"__Love is sweet, dearest Ned," _She had said to him, _"but it cannot change a man's nature." _That was essentially a polite way of saying, 'I love you brother, but the Others take your shit.' The stag would get drunk and grab the nearest pair of tits, while clashing with her at every turn, plain and simple. 

Lyanna's only reply to Benjen's jibe was kicking her mare into a sprint, making a beeline out of the forest towards Winterfell. 

They entered through the Hunter's Gate on the west side of the castle and made their way to the stables. After leaving their horses, their escort dispersed towards the barracks, while she headed straight to her room, storming through the courtyard and the halls of the Great Keep, ignoring her brother's attempts at an apology and steering clear of any place her father might be. She had thought of the godswood but quickly shelved that thought for later tonight. Reaching her chambers, she opened the door and tried her damnedest not to slam it shut. Locking herself inside, she plumped onto the feather bed and stared up at the ceiling with a frustrated look on her face for a good minute or two. She then looked over to the bedside table and saw her favorite book; black, leather bound with a silver-onyx dragon in the shape of a diamond. 

She sat up and grabbed it, flipping through the pages until she found the passage she was looking for and started reading; she did not come out until it was time for the servants to help ready her to sup for the evening.

* * *

Once the sup was over, Lyanna told the servants not to disturb her, though her lord father did pay a visit to scold her for her behavior during the evening feast, having a rather cold outlook due to her mood, and this only curdled it further. She waited until well in the night, around the hour of the owl, and quietly exited her chambers and ducked her way through the halls of the keep, the burning torches and clinking armor of guards changing shifts being the only sounds she heard before she silently opened the door outside and crossed the bridge to the armory. She wore the leathers she had when out riding earlier, and her hair was tied into a ponytail; more practical for what her plans were. She also was wearing a fur cloak since she looked out her window to see a light snow had begun to fall. She was not allowed to do this, especially when they were hosting members of houses. Appearances, they say, not that it stopped her, mind you. Some of the castle guards would give a small bow at their posts as she passed them by, hiding their bemusement at her destination. She had done this several times before, they knew, been caught more than once the first few and received an earful from Lord Rickard afterwards. 

However, after a while, they simply let her be and claimed ignorance. Not that she cared, anyhow, the look in her eyes told them to piss off, because right now, she felt like cleaving a dummy. Walking through the wooden door, she was greeted to a sight of rows upon rows of swords and axes and longbows and crossbows, even a few morning stars, near stacked against each other. On the other side, were the weapons she sought; dulled tourney swords. Lyanna grabbed one, holding it out with her left hand to get a good feel of its weight. It was somewhat lighter than what she was used to, or maybe she had just gotten stronger; she _had_ been practicing more often than usual. She remembered being on her knees _begging_ her father to let her learn how to use a sword when she was nine, having stood in the sparring yard, watching her brothers, even the younger Benjen, train for so long. Rickard Stark had always denied her, saying that she had no need to wield a weapon. _'But what about the women who lived in the lands in the East?'_ She would then counter. They were allowed to fight alongside men, plain as day, with no special circumstances like the few in their own histories, such as Jonquil Darke, the Scarlet Shadow, who was sworn shield to Queen Alysanne Targaryen. 

Her lord father would often scoff at that response, telling her that she shouldn't believe such fairytales and that being a warrior was not something a lady should ever look forward to (and this was his usually southron ambitions talking, though Ned often said it was because it was not a life like in the songs, and he was only trying to keep her safe). Not that it stopped Lyanna from stealing a sword from the armory, be it wood or dulled iron, every now and then when no one was watching; the first time was after her father put his foot down and she waited until well into the evening. A couple of stable boys and a squire took notice and stupidly started to tease her… then she struck one in the back of the knee with the blade and kicked another in the balls before throwing down the weapon and storming off. Needless to say, nobody ever made fun of her or her favorite stories again, her father's punishing of the boys notwithstanding. 

She loved hearing about those tales growing up, from listening to Old Nan's stories of the North, the Children of the Forest and their Pact with the First Men and the Long Night, to reading foreign books she often found in the library tower. Maester Walys and his Order often dismissed these as fiction and even pure superstition, but if that was true, why write them down in the first place? Why did the maesters collect them at all if they were so contemptuous of the subjects in them? As Lyanna read, she came to learn that these particular tales and tomes came from Tamriel, a place in the East Beyond Essos, some even mentioning another land called Akavir further beyond, or west across the Sunset Sea if the seafaring tales of Elissa Farman and the _Sunchaser _were taken in account. Books and trinkets come to the North all the time, from all over the world, but very few came ever really from beyond Essos or the Sunset Sea. So, Lyanna savored what she could, when she could. Followers of the Faith of the Seven, especially septons, regarded the lands as evil and dark as Asshai, where demons fornicated with the witches who summoned them, or so she heard; she kept to the Old Gods herself, so who knows? Lyanna read them all the time as a child; some were actual history books, telling of Tamriel's violent, but magical history, the spells and the powerful wizards that used them, and tales of their gods and demons locked in a perpetual struggle over the lives of the people beneath them, and others had nothing but songs sung through generations. 

Her favorite was _The Book of the Dragonborn_. Walys' predecessor acquired it over half a century ago, around the time of King Aerys I Targaryen. She would dare say she's read the _Dragonborn_ so many times, she could recite it almost perfectly; she did keep in her chambers after all. It spoke of legendary heroes who were blessed with the blood of a dragon, debating on what that actually meant and whether or not that meant the Septim Emperors of the Third Empire that ruled all of Tamriel, all carried this same trait, given that the first, Tiber Septim, was acknowledged as one by a group of monks called the Greybeards over three hundred years before the Doom of Valyria, being the first man to unite the continent under one banner and ruled as its first emperor, just like Aegon the First Targaryen, who did the same with Westeros. And even before him there were others, like the previous empire's first ruler, Reman Cyrodiil, or the rebel slave queen, St. Alessia before him, who was supposedly the First after making a covenant with Akatosh, the Dragon-God of Time to light the 'Dragonfires' that kept armies of demons, called Daedra, sealed away from Tamriel, using an object called the Amulet of Kings; a red diamond filled with the blood of Akatosh himself, again, the blood of the dragon. Every monarch who sat on the throne in the Imperial City since has worn this amulet and kept the dragonfires lit. 

The first half of the book ended with a prophecy, claiming that the arrival of the Last Dragonborn was at hand and would one day decide the fate of not only Tamriel, but the world itself: 

_When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world._

_When the Brass Tower walks, and Time is reshaped._

_When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles._

_When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls._

_When the Seed flees from the Sunset Lands, and the Last Wyvern dies..._

_When the Flame of God, guised as a gryphon, binds in blood with an Avatar of Nunda._

_When the Windmother reins her cold wrath to the Elder's Island, and Time sends its message._

_When Nerevar returns from the Sunrise Kingdoms and follows the burning star._

_When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding._

_The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn._

Practicing a few swings with tourney sword, she nodded and walked out of the armory, making her way to the godswood, the only place she knew it would be difficult for others to notice her handiwork. The entrance was flanked by two guards, like every other doorway or corridor. They paid her no mind, only bowed. "M'lady," they said. She smiled coyly and continued onwards. 

He father and mother had said that she had what was called the wolf blood, her mother once warning her about when she was smaller. _'My little wolf, you act without a thought to the world, don't you?_' Acting without thinking. How fitting. Tonight, was one of those occasions. Her mood had been soured at the mention of her betrothal. _Stupid Benjen. Stupid. Stupid. Ugh! How long before I try using this on that bloody stag_? She made a game of counting down how long it would take before they were at each other's throats despite Robert's dumbstruck demeanor when they were first introduced. Hmm, that was because of her looks, _that_ much was obvious. _Thinking with his other head, already. _After walking in the sacred woods for a good minute or two, she found the dummy she snuck in a few moons ago in the furthest corner of the godswood, behind one of the larger ironwoods. Considering their sturdiness; needing to withstand blows from the men who were training, she had to bring it in by piecemeal. Mikken, one of the castle blacksmiths, was kind enough to discreetly make a replacement for the one she had… borrowed. 

Raising her sword, a shadow fell over her eyes as the evening's frustrations boiled to the surface. 

_CLANG!_

The dummy shook constantly as Lyanna struck true. She wishes for a means to escape the bad betrothal, maybe she could run away, leave Westeros, and have adventures like the warrior she idolizes, the Last Dragonborn, the last person known to have been recognized as the one of the legendary heroes and the subject of that prophecy. 

The second half of the book was dedicated to this person; an addendum made three centuries later by a man named Dexion Evicus. It explained most of the prophecy's meaning and claimed that it had actually been fulfilled in the Year 201 of the Fourth Era on the Imperial Calendar, or around 156 After Conquest on the Westerosi. That was when the rumors of dragons returning started spreading and coincidently, it was also sometime after the last dragon died in King's Landing. Dexion also explained that a true Dragonborn is an individual who is blessed by Akatosh with not just the blood of a dragon, or _dovahsos_ as he called it, but the soul of one as well, giving them natural use of the Thu'um, or Voice, a powerful magical art that takes years and years to master for even a single spell incantation or Words of Power. They are also renowned as the ultimate dragonslayers, by absorbing the souls and stealing the power and knowledge of the dragons they kill, keeping them from ever rising again (apparently, the dragons there were immortal and could be raised from death by another if their souls were not taken), something the Last Dragonborn was notorious for. 

Her name was Alycia Aldmeri, a half-breed elven princess of the Aldmeri Dominion, a powerful empire that, to Lyanna's current knowledge, now ruled much of the further eastern continent. Alycia had been fifteen, no older than Lyanna is now, when she fled from her homeland over some unspecified court intrigue, despite her father being the king, disappearing in 4E 200. She reappeared in Skyrim the following year, the northernmost province of Tamriel, where the winters are said to make the ones here feel like a summer day, and just in time for a large civil war. It also accounted some of her actions in northern province, many of which seemed impossible (according to Walys), and her unusual association with several guilds (some with questionable reputations) as well as her critical role in the Second Dominion War and the conflicts that came after. But the scholar also made it a point that she was connected to the return of the dragons, called the Dragon Crisis; she had been present in Helgen, where the very first of them, Alduin, the World-Eater, a pitch-black dragon with scorching molten-eyes and scales as sharp as scythes, suddenly appeared and destroyed the walled town, and was felled months later. Dexion also wrote of his own meeting with Alycia, whom rescued him from a group of vampires, seeking his aid to stop an out of control scheme set on fulfilling an unusual prophecy that sounded like another Long Night. 

Lyanna also recalled Maester Walys once mentioning King Aegon V Targaryen's commissioning of a great many expeditions to gather any and all dragonlore in the world, and Skyrim was among these destinations. Perhaps the Unlikely King wanted to meet Alycia Aldmeri personally. But then the Tragedy of Summerhall happened and that was the end of the matter, and the expedition to Tamriel never returned; yet the rumors and songs were still coming. However, the maesters were quick to dismiss all of it, citing no concrete evidence to support them and some of the Targaryens often made snide and not-so-subtle remarks about the stories because it made _them_ and their hold over Westeros seem less than what everyone else saw _and_ that it was a definite possibility that there was someone out there who was better than them. And Lyanna was nearly inclined to agree with them. How could a single person kill a dragon? Or two? A dozen? The Dornishmen in the south always flaunted their successful resistance to Aegon the Conqueror, despite the fact that the death of his sister-wife, Rhaenys, and her dragon Meraxes, was entirely due to a lucky shot from a scorpion. But someone who made it look like a deer hunt? There _had _to be more to it than that. Then again, Dexion Evicus did make note that Alycia Aldmeri only killed at least a dozen or two, the last being Alduin before she stopped altogether, and that when he had met her, she had a dragon of her own: Zosiilviing, who was a Blue-Eyes White Dragon; scales like the winter snows and icy blue eyes, the rarest dragon of them all. 

She swung again. And again, and again. Her eyes narrowed as held out her weapon for a brief moment before pulling it back and lunging forward again in an upward slash before spinning lightly for a wider swing. Another cut along the left shoulder followed immediately by another to the right. The world was blur, and she felt or heard no one approach until he spoke. 

"Is he dead yet?" Lyanna turned around to see Benjen sitting on a large stone nearby. 

"Almost." She said nonchalant, swinging one last time to knock the old bucket that served as its head off. 

Benjen nodded glumly, staring at the bucket. "Alright. Well, I suppose I should be glad that wasn't me." Lyanna said nothing, still staring at the dummy, "Let's see how you fare against an opponent that fights back." She faced him again to see he had brought his own tourney sword. 

She smirked, "You sure about this, pup?" It had been a while since they had done this. 

"Boastful now, are we?" Benjen chuckled, getting into a stance. 

"Why not?" Lyanna asked as she lunged. 

Benjen parried, "It was one of Rodrik's first lessons." He said and made a slash that Lyanna blocked in turn. "Never get cocky." 

The two went into a series of cuts and jabs, each one blocked or parried, but the difference was easy to see. Benjen had proper training, evidenced by his more concentrated blows and parries, whereas Lyanna's own self-discipline displayed a certain aptitude that a master would appraise, for someone who essentially taught herself by simply watching all the men train. They danced around the ironwood and the stone, sometimes Lyanna fell back before advancing and then Ben led her away to reorient and advancing again. 

Lyanna blocked a strike and pushed forward, "What's wrong pup? Holding back again?" 

Benjen took a few steps back, "Maybe." 

"You shouldn't." She said, going for a low blow to the abdomen which Ben easily parried. 

"In a hurry to be knocked on your arse?" He shot back, making a diagonal strike that Lyanna was barely able to block. "I'll bite then." He continued this tirade, making a series cuts and blows that forced Lyanna on the defensive and backpedal away until she felt her back against an ironwood, her brother's dulled sword at her throat. "Dead." 

Lyanna narrowed her eyes, "Are you sure?" 

"Given the situation you're in, yes." The pup smiled wryly. 

"Then you forgot one of _father's_ lessons." She took the look of confusion on Benjen's as her chance. 

Moving faster and with strength he would not have expected, Lyanna struck his tourney sword with hers and sent it away from his hand, then whirled around him, grabbing his sword arm and shoving him into the tree, putting her sword under his chin and held him against the trunk with all the strength she could muster. 

"Never assume the fight is over until it's over." She said triumphantly, "And dead." 

Benjen's look of shock was evident at how easily she turned the tables on him. She could tell that move was not something their lord father or Rodrik and his brother Martyn would have taught them. He just laughed, and then she did, letting him ago as she stepped away, the two starting back toward the dummy. 

"Look, I'm sorry about what I said. It was crass." He started, "To be honest, I don't really like the match either." 

But of course, Benjen would say that. "Is that your consolation? Or honest opinion?" 

"Both." 

Crinkling her nose, Lyanna looked up at the sky. There was still a fair amount of cloud cover, but the ocean of stars can still be seen twinkling, the faint river of light of various colors (primarily white, blue, and red) behind them. She focused on the Ice Dragon, a constellation predominantly seen in the north, the smaller of the moons, Secunda coming alongside it at near full face. She sighed, "I know that at the end of the day, it is my duty. But that doesn't mean I have to like it." 

"We all have our duties. It's just the way things are, Lya." 

"Easy for you to say, Ben. You're the youngest and a boy. You have the freedom to pretty much do what you please as long as it doesn't shame the family or the North. I, on the other hand…" She scoffed, making one last swing at the dummy with all her might. The damn thing shook for several seconds, displaying her mood. She was not blind to the recoil though, her hands and wrists ringing, but she took care to hide it. "… am fated to run some castle somewhere, open my legs, and bring babes into the world." 

Benjen coughed at the sudden vulgarity Lyanna showed with that statement; she could make her peace with giving up the little freedom she had when it was time to marry. Just not with someone like Robert Baratheon. 

"What would you do if had the freedom to choose, per chance?" Benjen shot back, "Where would you go?" 

"Tamriel." It was short and concise, but with that word, Lyanna openly admitted she wanted to leave Westeros altogether and wander a land that they know almost little about. Sure, they knew about the nine kingdoms, or provinces as they are commonly referred; the peoples, which included races of Men, Mer (elves), and beast-folk; the ruling empire, the Aldmeri Dominion, and its royal family, House Aldmeri, even their motto: _The Last Word..._ Yet the only people who have ever bothered making such a journey were merchants, sellswords, and explorers; the nobles of both continents have their own games to squabble over. That didn't stop Lyanna from dreaming, however; she would have found her own way. "And I would find the Dragonborn. Learn from her, become a fighter like her." 

Benjen merely raised an eyebrow at her, clearly befuddled by her sudden answer, "So, you would be willing to leave your home, your family, behind, just to go to the literal other side of the world, where it may very well be far more dangerous to even ride out on an open road? I highly doubt father, or whoever you would be betrothed to aside from Robert, would let you get away with doing that, even if you had that freedom." 

Lyanna shrugged sheepishly, "There's time to disappear. Maybe after the tourney at Harrenhal is over." A jest obviously, but not beneath her. "And don't start with the whole 'I'm a lady speech again,' I get enough of that from father and even Brandon sometimes. Gods be damned, Alycia Aldmeri is a princess!" 

Benjen was clearly trying to get her to think more rationally, "How do you know she was even real? How do we if any of it is real? It's all so far away, and some of her actions have been known to be attributed to others as well. And if she was real, she lived over a hundred years ago. No one can live that long." 

"She's an elf. No, a _half_ elf, but she should still live much longer than most people." 

"Lya…" Benjen drifted off. "You really need to let those tales go." 

"We all seem ready to whole-heartedly embrace the stories our own people tell, despite the southrons, even Maester Walys, calling them superstitions." Lyanna countered, outright pointing out the hypocrisy in the pup's statement. 

"Maybe…" Benjen began, looking up the stars now, "… but even _they_ happened so long ago that we almost don't believe them now." 

Lyanna took a deep a breath and let out a long sigh, "I suppose I'm doomed, then, savoring these few months of freedom while I still can." Maybe it didn't matter at all, it's not like the gods could simply make her idol just drop right of the sky and… 

**_BRUUUAAAAAARK!_**

…she just _had_ to let the thought pass, didn't she? 

The whole of Winterfell stopped at that sound, everyone looking to the skies. A _loud_ clap of thunder soon followed, making all of the birds in the godswood take flight, chirping in fear, she could even hear the dogs in the kennels and the horses in their stables whine and howl from here. 

"What in the hells is that?!" A man's voice echoed. "Sound the alarm!" Already, Lyanna heard the warning bells and horns being rung across the castle and men shouting to scramble to their positions. They might as well be under attack. 

**_GRUOOOOAAAAARRRRRHHHHK!_**

And they probably are… 

"It's in the skies!" She heard a guard yell from the battlements above the godswood. 

**_"_****_GAAN… LAH HAAS!"_**

That was a voice, a woman's, like an echo coming through the winds. A clap of thunder followed, vibrating through the very life water running through her veins, piercing her ears, making her drop her sword to cover them. Winterfell itself rattled, the dust and light snow on the stone kicking off and several glass windows even broke. 

"DRAGONS!" 

Despite having both hands over her ears, Lyanna could still make out the hollering of that single word. She looked at her brother, who was still gazing upwards, but now all the blood had left his face. She looked up herself and felt her own blood freeze. 

Descending from the night sky were two dragons, one snow-white and the other a bluish black, locked in battle. They were close together as they came down, taking swipes at each other with their talons as their heads snapped back and forth, trying to take bites with those gaping maws. The blue-black dragon, clearly the smaller of the two, was giving off an odd purple aura and looked like it was struggling to stay in flight, whereas the much more massive white dragon—_Wait, WHITE DRAGON!?—_ kept trying to catch it in its talons, the other swiping at it with its hind legs and… a greatsword? A really, _big,_ wicked carved, pitch-black greatsword with a red glow… held in its fore talons… _What in the…?_

She never understood how or why, but she found herself running for the battlements as she watched the two dragons fight. Benjen called out to her, but she paid little mind to his words. There was shock and fear, yes, but also excitement. A feeling she had not gotten for some time. If this was… _The gods really do have a sense of humor... Oh focus Lyanna! _Man after man ran up the steps as she did, many armed with longbows and crossbows. Reaching the top of the Hunter's Gate, she had a grand view of the aerial battle descending over the ancient castle. 

"Riders!" A guardsman announced. Lyanna looked down to see seven riders holding the Stark banner galloping over the hill, about halfway to Winterfell. 

"Lower the drawbridge!" She yelled. The men complied and triggered the hinges on both sides and the bridge that connected the inner and outer walls began to lower to allow the riders, which Lyanna knew was her eldest brother's final procession from the Rills, to cross the moat and into the castle. They were supposed to return by dawn but must have made good time. Or worse, considering… 

**_BRUUUAAAAAARK!_**

She looked up and saw the aura fade away from the blue-black dragon and it stopped falling, its ragged wings making a single powerful sweep that essentially launched it at the white dragon. The larger beast ascended in turn and narrowly avoided a broad slash from that huge sword, but that only allowed the blue-black dragon to open its maw and unleash a greenish-blue stream of dragon fire. 

**_"_****_SPAAN… VOH DAAL!"_**

The woman's voice came again, much more thunderous now and the white dragon was enshrouded in some kind of shimmering silver sphere, like a barrier, warping the air around it like the ripples seen in disturbed water. That's when Lyanna saw her, a red-maned woman, wielding a glowing greatsword of her own, perched on the back of the magnificent beast. The black dragon's flames slammed into the barrier and were immediately sent back the way light strikes a mirror. 

"By the old gods and new…" She gasped. _It really is her…_

The sender, however, nimbly dodged its own flames by diving, allowing them to pass over it harmlessly and crash into the Wolfswood, torching a large patch of trees in a beautiful, but terrible blaze, several ironwoods being set off, giving a mix of green and dark blue colors. Unfortunately, Lyanna failed to make note of where the bluish-black dragon had landed until it was already upon them. 

"Brandon…" Without even thinking, she rushed down the steps and towards the stables, picking up an actual sword along the way, everyone else being too shocked at the spectacle to notice. _This is idiotic. _her mind finally registering her intent. _What the hell am I-_

**_"_****_ZUN... HAAL VIIK!"_**

Another clap of thunder, this time with the sound of… clanging weapons? Her ears rang as she held her head from the vibrations and soldiered on. What _she _didn't notice was the dragon, though now that she had a better look at it she was not so sure if it really was one, had dropped its giant sword as if it had been wrenched from its greatsword length claws, and took off again to resume its aerial battle with its white counterpart, grappling something fierce and began to freefall towards the castle. 

"Lyanna!" 

She looked up to see her father, Rickard Stark storming towards her in his leathers, his wolf skin cloak trailing behind, "What are you doing?" 

"Brandon is out there!" She answered quickly, "He almost made it back to the castle when…" 

**_BRUUUAAAAAARK!_**

**_GRUOOOOAAAAARRRRRHHHHK!_**

The two Starks looked up again to see the dragons go at it. There was some distance between the two winged beasts now, and then the smaller took a deep breath and unleashed a tight stream of its greenish-blue hellfire, so concentrated that there was a swirl to it. The larger dragon responded in kind, bearing its own stream of fire, this one a white blue. The dragon breaths slammed into each other in a magnificent explosion, illuminating the night like a second sun. The heat was so great, Lyanna could feel the sweat gathered on her brow dry quickly, and with this cold, she could see the steam. 

"Lya!" 

Snapped out of her stupor, Lyanna turned around to see Benjen running towards her. "Father." He said, noticing Lord Rickard, then narrowing his brow and eyes at the _sharpened_ sword she was still holding, which she promptly tossed. "What were you going to do with that?" _This _drew Lord Rickard's attention to her almost instantly. 

"My thoughts exactly." _Damn it, Ben._

As if on cue, a mass of galloping hooves grabbed their attention before Lyanna could answer and she turned to see Brandon and his men ride into the courtyard. They looked rather haggard and even terrified, given that were almost supper to a dragon. The Heir to Winterfell himself had a stupefied expression. 

"Lya, Ben." He regarded his siblings, before dismounting his horse and walking towards their lord father, "Father, what are those…? Could the rumors be true?" Even _he_ took stock of the gossiping, even if they were all he saw them as. 

"Rumors don't fight in the skies, Brandon." Their father somberly answered. The Stark patriarch stared back at the battle happening right above their castle. The men at arms stood at their positions, awaiting their lord's orders. But even Lyanna could see that her father was indecisive at the moment. After all, it has been near two hundred years since a dragon showed up at Winterfell. Also the first time one brought a battle with it. The pack of wolves continued to stare in awe at the display of power. Eventually, the black dragon maneuvered itself to lock its jaws on the white dragon's left wing, at the shoulder. The white dragon in turn, roared in pain and began scraping at the smaller with its talons, but it refused to let go. Then streaks of thunderlight coming from the white dragon's back struck the head of the black counterpart, likely in the eyes, forcing it off. 

The white dragon shoved it back, opening its maws and unleashed a stream of white blue thunderlight, not dragon fire, bloody _lightning_, blinding hers and everyone's vision and making a loud whipping, cracking sound the likes she has never heard. _BZZZZZZZZZZZT! BZZZZZZT! BOOM!_ The smaller counterpart dodged by flying in a circle around the source, the white dragon mimicking it in place, chasing it. She heard several loud, shattering crashes, _BANG-BANG-BOOM-DOOM-BOOM-BANG, _doubtlessly the ground the thunderlight was striking as the other dragon evaded. She hoped nobody was in the way of the that. Bloody well prayed that it wouldn't strike _them._

Finally, the smaller black dragon came around and slammed its body into the white one and the two went at it again. Every time they closed in, they bit and clawed at each other viciously, so much so, that Lyanna found herself wondering if this is what the Battle Above the Gods Eye was like, when Daemon Targaryen and the dragon Caraxes battled his nephew Aemond and Vhagar, the last of the dragons from Aegon's Conquest. 

"Get inside Lyanna…" Rickard finally said, the finality in his tone clear. 

But she tried to protest, "Father-" 

"I wasn't asking." Rickard said with his stern voice, he then turned to Benjen. "Take her and go bef-" He never got to finish. 

_**"LOK! BAH! QO!"**_

They all looked up to see the red-maned rider had leapt from her dragon's back, breaking sound again with her voice and the stars responded. 

**_BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT-PANG!_**

It felt like the world had been split in two, the sound so loud Lyanna felt her ears might bleed, but her gaze remained nonetheless. The rider had driven her sword into the beast's chest, completely free falling now, and a massive lance of lightning came from the brightest and highest star above, striking the hilt of the sword, its power surging into the beast, unleashing a shockwave that would have flattened Winterfell and Winter Town, had it been on the ground. The darker dragon let out a bloodcurdling screech as it came down, white light coming out of its eyes, mouth, even its nostrils and the various wounds it had already sustained. 

The beast landed just outside the castle with a resounding explosion, kicking up a plume of dirt that flew in every direction. The earth quaked and Lyanna instinctively took off and had the nerve to steal Brandon's terrified horse and kicked it into a gallop before they could stop her. She needed to see this; the harsh punishment she knew her lord father would give her was shelved in the back of her mind. 

Storming out the Hunter's Gate, where the drawbridge was still lowered, she made a beeline towards the very large crater a small trot between Winterfell and the still burning Wolfswood. Just as she arrived and dismounted, it began to clear and settle. Lyanna gasped with widened eyes as she took in the sight before her. 

The black dragon was very clearly dead, oozing an ink-like liquid from its wounds that gave off a steaming and very unpleasant smell. This was Lyanna's confirmation that the creature could not be a dragon at all. Yet it was still a massive beast, easily enough to ride inside its gullet. But most of her attention was on the woman that was standing on one knee on top of its chest. 

She had a slightly elongated, heart-shaped face with long pointed ears and two claw-like scars down the left cheek and a third on her upper lip, framed perfectly by long hair that was so red it reminded Lyanna of blood, serving to highlight her pale skin. She had a well curved figure, yet not particularly tall; about the same as Lyanna in fact. She also wore a circlet made of solid gold that had a small ruby in the center flanked by twin onyx orbs. As for her attire, it was a tight, black and red leather cuirass made specifically for a woman; gilded and did little to conceal (accentuated even) her figure with an assortment of belts around her hips, a series of small pouches tied to them and a strap on her left thigh that had twin steel daggers. A black skirt made of silk with embroidered runes flowed from those hips around her skintight trousers to her black boots, also lined with golden dragon designs. On her shoulders were clearly Valyrian steel pauldrons, the left dyed red, having the appearance of scales, and was larger than the right which was a rippled gold. Gods, on the back of her right hand was a glowing white-red mark in the shape of a dragon. As she rose to her feet, Lyanna could see six rings on the fingers of her hands; three on the right, three on the left; four were gold, two were silver; one had an emerald carved to look like an eagle's head, another an amethyst wolf, a third a horse's head, amber, a fourth a huge diamond flanked by twin rubies, and the other two silver bands had sapphires. Finally, on her back was on interesting sigil: a golden ring with the heads of a bear, a gryphon, and a dragon, chasing each other in a circle.*****

The woman tightly gripped her greatsword, which had a blade that looked to be as long as Ice and glimmered with ribbons of turquoise light and runes glowing lilac down the center of the blade and the hollowed heads of the crossguard and pommel. The Dragonborn pulled it free from the carcass of the slain dragon and gave it an impossible twirl before sheathing it in a white and black scabbard. Lyanna noticed that she was sporting wounds of her own; several punctures in her cuirass, all bleeding freely. 

"Dragonborn…" Lyanna trailed off. She was absolutely floored and unable to say anymore. 

Her breath hitched in her throat when her idol took notice of her utterance and gave her a tired smirk as she met her stone-grey gaze with her almost glowing bloodborne… "Aye… I am." She was breathing heavily, "No time… for story time… I'm afraid." … and promptly collapsed. 

Lyanna gasped as the woman fell off the dead creature and plopped onto the ground beside it with a resounding thud. _Oh_ _no…_ she ran to the fallen warrior. _Don't be dead! Don't be dead! Don't be dead!_ Falling to her knees, she quickly put an ear to the elf's nose. "She's still breathing…" It was faint, but it was there. But the blood… _How do I?_ She was still in her riding leathers, she realized. Acting quickly, she removed her cloak and wrapped it in a bundle, pressing it against the warrior's torso in a way she once saw Walys do. 

"LYANNA!" Lord Rickard bellowed. Said lady looked behind her to see her father galloping hard with Benjen and Brandon behind him. Even from where she was standing, she could tell he was not happy. There were at least forty soldiers pouring out of the castle behind them, armed to the teeth. There were more lining up on top of the walls. 

She was about to call out to him for the maester when she noticed his expression change from anger to sheer horror as a large, winged shadow blotted out the moonlight and fell upon them all, even Winterfell. _BRRUUUUOOOOM._ The ground shook again, kicking up more of the earth and snow, Brandon's horse whined and took off. She covered her face to shield herself from the dirt, keeping her eyes shut, but she trembled at the thought of opening them because of what had just landed practically on top of her. 

She felt the sweat on her brow drip from her face as the white dragon's breath licked her. A few moments long and agonizing moments passed, her heart pounding, before she worked up the courage to slowly open her eyes. _Oh, my. Whoa… _She had read books on the dragons the Targaryens used, even one that had very nice illustrations of each with their respective rider, or even a knight on a horse for comparison. She thought of Aegon the Conqueror's Balerion the Black Dread, how the small mounted knight drawn below could ride down his neck and into his gullet, the black and red colors of his flames, how he had earned his nickname for burning Harrenhal… and concluded that _this_ dragon, whom she was sure was the mighty Zosiilviing, would easily destroy him… _and _Vhagar _and_ Meraxes. 

It curiously droned at her as it bore its bastard sword length teeth, slowly climbing over the carcass of its dead counterpart, quaking the earth with each step. It had six limbs; four legs and a set of wings, as did the dead one, in contrast to the ones the Targaryens and their Valyrian ancestors had. The dragon opened its mouth just enough to reveal two tubes at the end of its mouth, just behind its large tusk protruding mandibles. They each had a white blue flame flickering from the openings, before a crackling sound, like the soldering of metals from the smithy, resounded in her ears and the flames were replaced by sparks of thunderlight. 

Stampeding hooves came about and tore her away from the massive creature as her father and brothers closed in with their soldiers, arrows nocked and crossbows aimed, though by the looks on their faces, they weren't sure of what they were doing. The dragon stood up immediately at the potential threat, letting out a visible growl and spread its enormous wings, craning its neck and smooth, crested, oval shaped head upwards to stare down at them. Standing at full height, the dragon was almost like a god, its form catching the moonlight of Masser and Secunda, red and white light dancing along the scales and pale membranes between the wings, causing them to glimmer like diamonds, accentuating the glow of those brilliant, icy orbs. Further still, streaks of white blue light appeared in patterns similar to lightning all over its body and wings. 

The message was clear: Don't even think about. 

Lyanna herself was starstruck, the dragon was beautiful, the only one that can compare in such a way was Sunfyre, the mount of King Aegon II Targaryen, said to have had golden scales that shined beneath the sun. 

Then, the impossible, "Lower your weapons and you will not be harmed, mortals." It said in a very haughty, feminine voice. 

Lyanna very visibly gaped. _Did it just?!_ The men shared her reaction; they were well and truly outside of their territory now. 

Impressively, her lord father was able to quickly recompose himself and answered in matching tones, "I am afraid that is not possible, _dragon_. My daughter is at your mercy." 

"Unfortunately for you, mortal, you don't get to decide that." The dragon countered. "While I may have been weakened from my battle with this false dragon." She emphasized this with a twitch in her left wing. Lyanna could see several holes within the scaled membranes, then turned her attention to the still bleeding joint on her right wing. "I highly doubt you will be able to do me harm with _any_ of those weapons." 

_Indeed._ Lyanna silently agreed, taking further stock of the dragon. She had pure white scales, like snow, of course, but on top of those were what looked like plates as thick and hard as stone. The scales would more than likely deflect any arrow or crossbow bolt, and the plates were essentially a natural armor. She figured that even with scorpions or ballistae mounted on the walls of Winterfell, the dragon would probably still destroy them. Lyanna also saw the saddle of the Dragonborn on its back, right behind the neck, two additional swords and a large bag tied to them, long reins extending from the till they wrapped around the twin tusks coming out of the dragon's mandibles. 

"Be that as it may," Lord Rickard curtly replied, "I cannot order my men to stand down if my daughter's safety is in question." 

The Dragonborn suddenly coughed as Lyanna continued pressing her cloak against her wounds. She was still unconscious and needed a healer. Lyanna took this chance to call out to him, "Father, we need get the rider inside, she needs help! I-it's _her!_ The Dragonborn!" 

The white dragon's sapphire eyes widened slightly, calmly looking down at her, "We did not come here looking for foes, mortal, only to reclaim what the false dragon stole." She spoke with a tinge of worry, "My _monah_ is wounded and exhausted from a chase that we have been on for close to two days now, since encountering this Daedric Titan," she cocked her massive head at the dead beast she rested her talons on, "in the ruined city you call Valyria." 

_Valyria?! They've been to Valyria?!_ That… actually makes sense? Maybe? _Focus, Lyanna! Focus!_ She needed to defuse the situation, or… well, she really didn't want to think about the alternative. "Father, please! The dragon _obviously_ doesn't mean us any harm, but I'm sure she _and _her rider would be grateful to us if we provided them aid." Her father kept his eyes on the dragon but she knew he was listening all the same. "And if this dragon wanted to kill us, she would have done so by now. You saw what she did!" She pleaded, praying to the gods he listened. "What could we do against her?" 

Rickard Stark spent a long, hard moment contemplating what she suggested, shifting his gaze between her and the dragon above, before closing his eyes and signaling his men to stand down. "Very well." He slowly said and glanced over his shoulder, "Rodrik! Send for Maester Walys. And inform the steward to prepare a room." 

Rodrik Cassel nodded and scurried his horse back into the castle, taking six men with him. 

"My thanks, mortal." The dragon said, a pang of relief in her tone. Her posture relaxed, retracting her huge wings, but still saw fit to give them a jibe. "If this had dragged any longer, I would have had to _disarm_ you." 

Lyanna had no idea what that meant, neither did her father, but there was a noticeable twitch on his brow. She watched as the remaining Stark bannermen gathered in a half circle, a few still gawking at the sheer size of both the dragon and the dead, what was it, Daedric Titan? Some others stared at the dead beast's huge, discarded greatsword lying a few long steps away from the landing site. Their own weapons were lowered, but they were still obviously wary, yet they had a look of awe on their faces she hadn't seen them wear before. Like being inside a dream even. Indeed, she too was expecting to wake up at any moment now. 

Lord Rickard, Brandon, and Benjen, dismounted from their horses and marched towards her with a rather exasperated and aggressive bearing. She knew she was in for it now. 

She looked between the three of them several times until they were within two steps from her and offered them a sheepish smile, lightly tapping her thumbs on her partially bloodied cloak, still pressed against the Dragonborn's wounds. _Be careful what you wish for._ She thought. 

* * *

**A/N: Whew! That took longer than expected. Originally this was going to have two POVs, but I kind of wrote myself into a corner in the Alycia part, I pretty much let it get away from me and forgot to account for time skips, so I decided to split the two and fine tune Lyanna's POV, so it might take five chapters to lay the groundwork, especially with how the Dragonborn showed up in Westeros, because let's be honest, the Northerners are not the only ones who saw ****_that_**** battle, they were the only ones able to see its conclusion. It really will be a wonder on what kind of effect Alycia will have on ASOIAF in the most important part of its story. Her half of what was supposed to be in this chapter will be in the next update and it will likely be even longer. Yes, she will meet the Targaryens, including the Mad King. (****_That_**** will be interesting to see.) And the Lannisters, since she has _two_ of their long lost treasures.**

**Also, suffice to say, I have ****_big_**** plans for Lyanna. I hope I got her personality down. I feel that she was like a combination of Sansa and Arya. Ned Stark often said Arya was most like her in looks and personality, but I also feel that Lyanna was a bit of a dreamer like Sansa, even if it wasn't _those_ kinds of stories and songs that her niece loved so, but if she had the chance to fulfill something like that, she would take it, no matter how stupid it ultimately is, hence the choice she made that instigated Robert's Rebellion.**

**Yes, Zosiilviing is bigger than Balerion, whom the Daedric Titan was about half the size of. And a hell of a lot more powerful. As for having six limbs, that will be limited to her and any Blue-Eyes or Red-Eyes dragon. And only three more like her, either a Blue-Eyes or Red-Eyes, appear. The rest of the dragons, however, will only have four limbs, like in the canon of both series. ****To be clear, Alduin also had six limbs and was a Red-Eyes Black Dragon, the first and strongest of them; he also had a Blue-Eyes White Dragon counterpart; a twin if you will. I'll have a 'codex' entry on the dragons and the Dragon War in a future chapter eventually.**

***That's going to need a screenshot or two. It's a combination of armor mods on the Nexus website. I'll place links directly to them on my homepage and even Serana at some point, as she will have a very prominent role later in this story. But the base for Alycia's armor is the Draconic Bloodline mod by singlebelong, sans the high heels and exposed cleavage for obvious reasons. The other mods for reference are:**

\- **Midnight Breed (belts and thigh strap) by Stealthic Khaos.**

\- **Royal Elven Set (another pair of belts and the pauldron on the right) by Roadstroker**

\- **The Coenaculi (for the dragon mark) by Desufire**

\- **DovahBling (rings) by testiger2**


	4. Artaeum Archives: Entry 1

**A/N: Ughh, my head. This semester is a _real_ slow burn. Everytime I think I have a break, two more papers show up. So, I have taken the liberty of cutting a piece of the next chapter, which is the first of the codex on past events, and upload it as a seperate entry. I think I'll be doing that from now on.**

* * *

**The Second Dominion War**

**4E 202 – 4E 206 Tamrielic/156AC – 160AC Westerosi**

Quite possibly the most destructive conflict Tamriel has ever seen, surpassing even its predecessor, and the Three Banners War of the Second Era combined. 

After twenty-five years of planning and conducting numerous espionage operations since the first war, the Aldmeri Dominion launched the most well-coordinated multi-pronged invasion of Tamriel in history. Beginning with the **Rape of Solitude**, the Aldmeri forces swept through the continent on all sides by the end of the year 4E 202, converging on Cyrodiil and taking the Imperial City virtually unopposed. Soon after, the Third Empire finally collapsed, stemming from the **Dark Brotherhood's** **Assassination of Emperor Titus Mede II,** whom had no immediate heirs, only a few months earlier, along with the revelation that it had been Councilor Amaund Motierre who had contracted the assassin's guild. The fallout from the assassination led to the Elder Council effectively deadlocked from the infighting to see who would succeed the Mede Dynasty as well as thrown accusations of ruthless ambition and corruption, that by the time they learned of the Dominion's attack, the cities of Anvil, Kvatch, Skingrad, and Leywiin had already fallen. 

The Imperial Legion in Cyrodiil was also taken by surprise; quickly overwhelmed and nearly destroyed by the first wave until they rallied and maintained hold of Cheydinhal and Chorrol, as well as sending an army east to stall the Dominion in Morrowind by assisting the Dunmeri Great Houses, which would prove vital in the coming years. However, when the Aldmeri began the second wave of attacks, the Legion's lines broke and their command structure fell into chaos, perfect for the Dominion who then made for the north to link up with the armies invading from Skyrim. 

In the west, the invasion was far more brutal. Learning from her mistakes in the previous war, Lady Arannelya brought forth an army more than thrice the size of its predecessor, beginning her assault with the first airborne attack of its kind, the** Great Harrowing**. A force consisting of over a thousand and a half **Faradrim Chevaliers**, the successors to the old **Welkynar Gryphon Knights **(the last of which were slain in the **Aldmeri-Redguard War **by the Westerosi warrior Nettles and the Targaryen dragon Sheepstealer), fell upon the island of Stros M'kai, the riders casting devastating destruction magics as their powerful gryphons rended the siege weapons with their talons, the Redguards unable to effectively defend from aerial attacks. The island fell within a day and served as the staging point for the main invasion and the Faradrim quickly flew into the mainland, crushing all in their path. While the Redguards were able to respond more quickly to the Dominion's surprise invasion, having correctly predicted when it would happen, it simply fell to a matter of being outnumbered and outgunned, with all of southern Hammerfell falling by the end of the first year, the same territory that the Aldmeri desired before the first war; the city of Hegathe, known for holding out against the Altmer in the previous war, was razed to the ground. Lady Arannelya then divided her army and swept through Iliac Bay and began landing troops in High Rock, the port-cities of Daggerfall and Sentinel put under siege for much of the war. 

King Aldail II Aldmeri's plan was to overtake the Empire in its capital and force the rest of Tamriel into submission by the end of the second year, then dispatching pocket forces across the continent to crush all remaining resistance, then move on to assaulting and destroying the remaining Towers that held Mundus together. Even though the rest of Tamriel knew another war with the Aldmeri Dominion was inevitable, they did not expect it for at least another five years. Speculation in the war's aftermath found that Aldail's sudden decision to speed up his timetable had a more personal motive, especially when the shocking revelation spread throughout the conflict that Skyrim's prophesized Last Dragonborn was none other than his own youngest daughter, the sixteen-year-old Crossbreed Princess, Alycia Starlight, who was believed to have perished in the Rape of Solitude. 

Despite the suddenness however, the invasion was, for all intents and purposes, a masterstroke and the Dominion had all but won the war, until several factors neither Aldail nor the Thalmor could anticipate made themselves known: 

\- **The White Schism: **As the Dominion surged into Tamriel, Princess Vyrandia Aldmeri, **_the White Gryphon_**, elder sister of the Last Dragonborn, was informed of the actions taken in Skyrim's capital and discovered the Thalmor's true endgame. Already secretly working behind closed doors for several years, Vyrandia had her faction act early and promptly seceded from the Dominion for the sole goal of deposing Aldail and his supporters, severely dividing the elven kingdom and plunging it into civil war. It received its name because of Vyrandia's personal coat of arms: a salient white gryphon upon a red field. 

\- **The Bear ****of Skyrim:** With help from the dragons and the quick leadership of rebel leader Ulfirc Stormcloak, the Nords successfully drove the Dominion out Skyrim, completely eradicating their presence from the northern province. Unfortunately, due to the deaths of Jarls Elisif the Fair, Igmund, Skald the Elder, Idgrod Ravencrone, and Imperial Governor General Tullius, the remaining Jarls were left with no choice but to hold a kingsmoot and elect the rebel leader High King of Skyrim, being the most experienced battle commander, who swears vengeance against the Thalmor. Once informed of the Thalmor's true plans by an 'unknown benefactor,' later revealed to have been Vyrandia, King Ulfric's first act was to gather the remaining Nordic and Imperial forces and march west and south to assist the overwhelmed Imperials. 

\- **Queen of the Dark Elves: **At the end of the war's second year, the Dominion was effectively pushed out of Morrowind. The Great Houses were then divided for many months on whether to continue the war or withdraw entirely, or even use the chaos to invade Argonia and reclaim the lands the Hist had taken. This left the province's defenders in flux as another Dominion army swept through the reptilian-folk's homeland to try and reinforce its retreating forces to make another push. Then, on the 1st of Second Seed, Thieves' Guild Nightingale Karliah, and Eldrien Llewyn, the Nerevarine, discovered the legendary Barenziah residing in her empty palace after vanishing for over two-hundred years. While it is not known what was exchanged between them, the Queen Mother reclaimed the Dunmeri monarchy and raised its banners against the Aldmeri Dominion, marching into Argonia and Cyrodiil to meet the Thalmor head on. 

\- **The Psijic Order: **The Summerset Island of Artaeum suddenly reappeared on the 8th of Last Seed 4E 204 and the Psijic mages began a campaign of hit and run attacks to harass Aldail's forces at every turn. Their reasons given for returning were archaic at best such as 'preventing the collapse of Mundus,' or 'restoring balance.' Nevertheless, their operations were focused around the Towers in High Rock, Skyrim, Argonia, and Valenwood, where agents of the Thalmor attacked numerous times, leading to frequent battles in the surrounding areas and one massive engagement around the ancient Direnni Tower. 

\- **Rise of the Dragon: **Somehow surviving the Rape of Solitude, Alycia Aldmeri took lordship of the dragons and commanded them to fight against her homeland, the dragons Paarthurnax and Odahviing becoming her top lieutenants. She also formed what is known as the **Mirahjor**, a grouping of Skyrim's guilds with whom she was associated (The Companions of Jorvaskkr, the Dawnguard, the College of Winterhold, the Thieves' Guild, the Dark Brotherhood, and the remaining Blades), dedicated to ending the war and avenging Solitude. 

Within weeks, the Aldmeri Dominion was caught completely off guard and summarily pushed back on all fronts before rallying and launching another offensive, resulting in vicious fighting taking place across Tamriel, the most spectacular being the massive aerial battles waged by the dragons and the Faradrim. Millions perished over the course of four years, the continent itself devastated, with many lands reshaped and cities destroyed. Then there was the winter that began in 4E 202 and lasted throughout the war, not ending until 5E 2, bringing mass famines that added to the conflict's total costs in the aftermath, the worst being where the fighting was heaviest; much of Cyrodiil's landscape was devastated, with over half of its cities destroyed, plains and forests burned; in Valenwood, entire forest communities, some of which were thousands of years old, were razed in a mix of ice and fire, including the ancient **Elden Root**, capital of the **First Aldmeri Dominion**; Skyrim saw the annihilation of its own capital city, Solitude as well as the Hold cities of Markarth, Morthal, and Dawnstar; the region surrounding the ancient Direnni Tower in High Rock became a barren wasteland after a titanic battle between dragons, Psijic mages, Allied and Dominion forces fighting for the structure for over two months; the Hew's Bane Peninsula south of Gilane in Hammerfell was transformed into an island when a group of dragons used their True Voices to cut off Aldmeri forces on the ground while the cities of Sentinel and Daggerfall were subject to mass starvation due to three years of being under siege; one-third of the deserts that made up Elsweyr were melted into glass, the bodies of the dead forever entombed; any and all recovery the Dunmer made in Morrowind was set back a hundred years; and in Argonia, the Thalmor unleashed venomous Basilisks and Wyverns brought from Sothoryos to terrorize the reptilian-folk and destroy several of the Hist trees, the wretched creatures ultimately spreading across the continent like a plague. Towards the end of the fourth year, the forces loyal to Aldail and the Thalmor were pushed into the city of Alinor where a final siege took place in the war's remaining days. 

When the city was breached, the Thalmor played their final card: Oblivion Gates. 

Defying their own traditions in desperation, the Thalmor conducted an incomplete ritual derived from a surviving fragment of the **Mysterium Xarxes**, obtained through as yet unknown means and meant as a 'final solution' against their enemies. The result was the reopening of the Oblivion Gates that Martin Septim sacrificed his life to close over two-hundred years ago, plunging Tamriel into apocalyptic chaos, the largest gate opening in Alinor and even one in the sacred Ebon Stadmont outside of Cloudrest. Hordes of Daedra poured forth, including the fearsome Titans, unseen since the Second Era. This action was the death blow to any support the Thalmor had left among the Dominion, many of their own soldiers turning on them immediately. The allied forces rallied however and were able to stem the tide long enough for the Last Dragonborn and the White Gryphon to enter the Diamond Hall in the Alinor Palace and stop the ritual, allegedly killing their king father, the conductor. 

With Aldail's death, the ritual cancelled itself out and the Oblivion Gates were forced shut, the remaining Daedra hunted down and banished. The surviving loyalists finally surrendered, ending the war. 

However, despite the outcome, the Aldmeri Dominion still emerged as the dominant power in Tamriel. Three weeks after the fighting stopped, Vyrandia was crowned **Vyrandia III Minerva Aldmeri**, who had no intention of dismantling her kingdom. And in a surprising twist, neither did the Dragonborn, despite many calling for her to take the Ruby Throne in Cyrodiil and be proclaimed Empress of Tamriel. Alycia refused, citing that there was no empire to rule; many suspected she never wanted it to begin with and even conspired with her sister to ensure Alinor's dominance in the outcome. Vyrandia then annexed Cyrodiil and Argonia (save for the northern region which was ceded back to Morrowind at the request of Barenziah) into the Dominion and in a show of force, flew to the Imperial City for the signing of the **Treaty of Solitude** on the back of the silver-gold dragon **Eindojud **(Light of Queen) and made her capital there, ascending the Ruby Throne. The terms of the treaty entailed that all Aldmeri forces withdraw to their own borders and remain there; the Dominion would cede the northern island of Roscrea to Skyrim; the provinces of Argonia and Cyrodiil would be absorbed into Alinor's domain, all their inhabitants becoming full-fledged citizens, though Argonia would retain full autonomy; the stipulations of the White-Gold Concordat in 4E 175, including the renouncing of Talos, were revoked; Skyrim, Morrowind, High Rock and Hammerfell would retain their independence and worshippers of Talos would no longer be persecuted; all Thalmor agents, defiant loyalists and supporters, on the other hand, would be 'ripped out root and stem,' and the Dominion would begin the process of rebuilding and reparations, sending aid even to the Nords, who reluctantly accepted. 

An uneasy peace would settle across the continent as the remaining independent kingdoms began a slow but steady process of reconstruction and negotiating new alliances, remaining wary of the Dominion. Skyrim and Morrowind, despite their differences, unified into a military alliance, creating a **Second Ebonheart Pact.** High Rock and Hammerfell remained independent of the rest of the Tamriel, and Orsinium reemerged in the mountains between the Nord and Breton homelands, though neither of the three looked to reform the Daggerfall Covenant. 

Many guilds suffered heavy losses as well, such as the Fighters Guild, which lost so many members that it effectively dissolved, ushering in a new age of private armies; the remaining members of the Blades, rumored to have sworn to the Dragonborn before the conflict, met their end in battle with the Thalmor throughout the war, the last remnant of the Septim Dynasty officially extinct; the Thieves' Guild and the Dark Brotherhood, having regained their reputations mere months before, were once again down to their previous strength and standing, but with a chance of rebuilding. The Dawnguard, however, emerged as a powerful and influential league, absorbing the remaining Vigilants of Stendarr, and swelling their numbers, establishing their presence in most of the provinces. This was due to their prowess in hunting down the leftover Daedra that were still running amok in Tamriel after the war. The Companions of Jorrvaskr also experienced a boom in their numbers due to their own fighting prowess and leadership, but not without a heavy price: the deaths of the famed Aela the Huntress, a senior member of the guild, in the Battle of Silvenar, 4E 206, and their most recent Harbinger, Jason Stone along with his dragon, the Cannibal (later resurrected by the dragon Paarthurnax through undisclosed means and renamed Jiidvennah), in the Rape of Solitude, 4E 202. 

Despite her decisions after the conflict, Alycia Aldmeri was hailed a hero throughout Tamriel and remained a welcome presence even in Skyrim where she continues to reside, though she would disappear from history for a time, reappearing in Akavir twenty years later. The dragons, while still the subject of much fear and suspicion, were widely acknowledged for their pivotal role in ending the war and began to spread beyond the northern province and make their roosts in other places, but still remaining largely isolated from the general populace. While all are independent of one another and following Jurgen Wind-Caller's Way of the Voice, the winged beasts still answer the Dragonborn's call, whenever it may be. 

With the war's end, and the realm that Tiber Septim built centuries ago all but swept away, High Queen Vyrandia declared the Fourth Era over on the 6th of Midyear 4E 206, beginning the Fifth Era. Ironically, even with the new Queen's eradication of what she called, 'the Old Thalmor' (some said to have been hunted down by the Dark Brotherhood in later years) along with all of their extremist ideals, their plans of elven supremacy, a goal held since the formation of the first kingdom under Queen Ayrenn, was finally achieved.

* * *

**Legendary Weapons: Entry I**

_"Dragons may be made to dominate, but I forged my own path."_

**_Andúril, Light of Aetherius_**

\- **Wielder:** Alycia Aldmeri 

\- **Description:** A silver greatsword of unknown make and origin. Much of its abilities remain unknown, but a few have been discovered and documented. It glows a light blue when it senses supernatural creatures; ribbons of teal light swirl around the base of the blade when those same creatures bear hostile intent, the runes engraved on the blade glowing a white lilac. Like its sister weapons, _Sting, Glamdring, _and _Orcrist_, it has the ability to project spells like a stave and unleash a powerful telekinetic wave when swung with great strength. Its unknown metal is freakishly strong, capable of hacking apart even dragonsteel weapons and armor with enough force; only certain Daedric metals and crystal stalhrim can really hold their own against it and the blade can even withstand an attack from a Daedric Lord. Despite its large size, comparable to weapons like _Volundrung _and _Bloodskal_, it is incredibly light to the point that its master can hold it with one arm like a longsword, and still strike with immense force. It also appears to have a mind of its own, as no other man or woman can hold it aside from its chosen wielder and perhaps their closest allies, attaining a ludicrous weight that makes it virtually impossible for even a dragon to pick it up. However, it can be carried while it is in its scabbard but cannot be drawn by anyone except its master, the sword will even shock a stubborn enough person with a bolt of lightning. **(A/N: A lot of its behaviors and abilities are based off Mjolnir from Marvel's Thor. Alycia's style is a deadly combination of Artorias, the Abysswalker from Dark Souls and MCU Hela.)**

\- **History:** The strongest and most legendary of the Blades of Aether, much of Anduril's past is shrouded in mystery, appearing in and out of history all over the world, with the oldest account dating as far back as the Dawn Age/Era, before time was linear. Historians of the Psijic Order believe it may have been wielded by Auri-El himself during the Ehlnofey Wars along with his bow and shield, while others contend it belonged to Lorkhan. It is also possible that this was the very sword wielded by Azor Ahai during the War for the Dawn thousands of years ago. Whatever the truth, it has had many different wielders since, some of them the most legendary figures in ancient history, including Noctis Arcturus the First Edgemaster, St. Alessia, Brandon of the Bloody Blade, and perhaps even Indoril Nerevar, but eventually it came into the possession of House Aldmeri, who long claimed direct lineage to Auri-El, as one of their ancestral weapons, the other being _Chillrend. _Its most famous wielder before the Last Dragonborn was Prince Erandun Aldmeri, the legendary Vestige and Hero of the Second Era, who battled countless enemies, including Molag Bal, centuries before Tiber Septim began his conquest of Tamriel. When Alycia Aldmeri fled Alinor in 4E 200, she took this sword with her, stealing it from her ancestor's crypt in the Ebon Stadmont, though she was initially unable to even unsheathe it, for it deemed her unworthy at the time. In her first battle with Alduin, she finally drew it from its ebony/ivory scabbard and used it to fend off the black dragon, however, she still could not use its magical abilities, save for its ridiculous strength and light weight. After the Rape of Solitude, King Aldail II Aldmeri, took the blade with him back to Alinor, where it remained as it refused to be wielded by Aldail. Alycia would reemerge and use the rediscovered Chillrend throughout the war until she reclaimed the greatsword in the Siege of Alinor and unlocked some of its powers, allegedly battling her father. She has held it ever since, using it numerous times in her travels. However, she still has yet to unleash its full potential, so most of its true abilities remain unknown. Being a supposed primordial weapon from before or after Aurbis initially formed, it is said to be capable of killing a god. Death with no hope of returning to the immortal plane, perhaps not even Aetherius, nor the Void. Just… something else. The Daedra, and quite possibly the Aedra, fear Andúril like a plague because of this.

* * *

**A/N: Hope you liked the first two 'codex' entries, I really wanted the second great war that has been implied to be imminent throughout _TESV_ to essentially be a high fantasy version of World War II; absolutely FUBAR, and completely changing the face of Tamriel for generations to come, hence why the timeline is the Fifth Era instead of the Fourth. And Andúril is, honestly, I haven't quite decided on its real origins, though it is the same with the rest of the LOTR weapons, which are being called Blades of Aether. It is essentially an uber weapon, but Alycia does not really make use of the powers she _can_ do, unless absolutely necessary, though it would still be devastating to any 'mundane' army.**

**Finally, I'll be retooling chapters as I update, because no matter how many read overs before posting, some grammar mistakes and bad wordings still manage to get through, and it annoys the hell out of me.**

**Cheers! - noobie**


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